Toothbrushes
by Onesimus42
Summary: AU fluff. Ruth has a secret.
1. Prologue

_**Just a little offering into the world of Spooks fanfic. This is unapolegetically AU and fits somewhere in the middle of Series 4, I suppose. Certainly before 4:10. **_

_**Disclaimer: In case there was any doubt, I do not own these characters, mean them no harm, will earn nothing from them, and fully plan to return them when finished. (maybe)**_

Harry was a block away from her door when he had fifth thoughts. He'd had second thoughts before leaving the Grid, third thoughts when he'd directed his driver toward her part of town, and fourth thoughts when he'd asked Michael to drop him three blocks away from her front door. He had reasoned that a brisk walk the last bit of the way would clear all of those thoughts, but if anything it had just intensified them. Twisting his neck, he wished that he could loosen his tie. He supposed he could have taken it off, but that didn't seem right. This impromptu visit was still about business after all. At least that was what he kept telling himself each of the five times that he reconsidered what had seemed a perfectly reasonable decision the first time around.

He needed information. Ruth would have it. Yes, he probably could have gotten it over the phone. In reality, it probably could wait until Monday. However, once the thought of getting the information from her had entered his mind, he realized that he wanted to not only have information but discussion as well. He wanted to talk to her, gain her insights, and watch her face as she concentrated on the problem he was facing. There was also the added temptation of seeing what she would be like if she was thrown off balance by him surprising her at her door. He wanted a glimpse of what she was like when she wasn't at work, no defenses up. If he was very fortunate, she might invite him to have tea. Or a drink. Or perhaps he could even invite her to dinner.

No. Stop. He pulled his thoughts forcibly back from that path. Business. He was going to her home to discuss business. Hence the tie. No dinner. No kissing. And definitely no seduction. He would get the information he needed, perhaps tea and possibly a biscuit or two. Then he would leave her to her weekend and he would go home to his; his lonely weekend of Indian takeaway and walking his dog.

He couldn't deny, at least to himself, that he was becoming increasingly intrigued by his attractive analyst, but he would not allow himself to act on that attraction. She worked under him after all. He paused as he approached her garden gate. That was an exceedingly unfortunate thought as it had conjured images of her truly under him; writhing under him while he teased her skin with fingers and tongue. Bracing himself with one hand on the gate, he reminded himself that he was her superior and old enough to be her father; technically, just barely, at a stretch. Not to mention that he had a tickling sensation that if he ever gave in to his attraction to her he would be lost; utterly, completely, and totally lost.

That thought steeled him to open her gate and stride purposefully up the path to her door. He hoped he didn't wake her from a lazy afternoon nap. Or surprise her with a guest. A male guest. A male guest who might be sharing her nap after a vigorous morning of… That thought nearly had him pulling out his mobile to call his driver. His hand was actually reaching for his pocket when the door opened and the source of his afternoon's contemplation came hurtling down the path and threw herself into his arms.

"Darling. You're home early! I didn't expect you until Monday at least."

_**Reviews are welcome and will let me know if anyone is interested in reading more. **_


	2. The Advesary

_**Glad you enjoyed the first bit. Hope it will continue to please. I make no pretense that this is any way shape or form like a Spooks episode. Just a little interlude. **_

_**Disclaimer: Don't own them or anything from them. Writing purely for pleasure.**_

Any response that he would have made was cut off by the shock of her cheek pressed to his and the brush of her breath against his ear as she whispered to him, "Harry, please, if you value me at all, your name is James. We've been together for a few years. You're in the diplomatic service and you're returning from a trip to the continent. Please. I promise you that I'll explain later, and I'll do whatever you ask if you'll just do this one thing for me."

His head reeled for a moment with this information and the desperation in her voice. Then his instincts took over. Was she in trouble? This performance was for someone. Was someone holding her hostage? A terrorist? Someone with a personal vendetta against her? If that was the case, surely they wouldn't have let her leave the house. Unless of course they had a weapon trained on her at this moment. He swung her in his arms as though he was overjoyed to see her and strategically set her down so that his body was between the house and her. Perhaps any bullet would be slowed enough by his bulk to minimize harm to her. While his mind ran through these scenarios and various plans of escape, he went along with the information that she'd given him.

"Mmmm. Business finished early and I wanted to surprise you with the rest of the weekend in bed," he said, leaning forward to brush his lips over her forehead and then down her cheek before he whispered in her ear, "Quickly now. How many are here and where? Any weapons?"

She stuttered, and he could feel her tensing, "No, no, no, it's nothing like that. There's no physical risk just my…"

She was cut off by a woman's voice calling from the doorway, "Ruth, dear, are you going to stay out there all day? Bring him inside. I'm dying to meet him."

His analyst was situated so that only he could see the way that her face fell and then the determined resignation that came over her features. Her eyes darted up to his for a moment, and he assured her with a quick nod that he would go along, for now at least.

"Mother, this is James," she said, releasing her hold on his shoulders and turning him gently to face the doorway, her hand trailing down his arm to grasp his.

"James, this is my mother. Since you were gone, she popped up for a quick visit today."

The woman who was standing on the front step and watching him with wary eyes said quickly, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you James, and you're just in time to share our tea. I've heard so much about Ruth's man-friend."

Ruth's grip tightened on his and somehow he felt this might be one of the most difficult assignments of his life even if it did give him the tiniest of thrills to be described as his analyst's man-friend.

Harry stepped forward, keeping his grip on Ruth's hand and holding out his other hand to her mother, "It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Ms. Bickley. I've heard so much about you." Which was a complete and utter lie, but he had read the bare bones of Ruth's personal file so he thought he could manage.

Ruth's mother shook his hand warmly, but her smile didn't quite reach her eyes which were watching him with almost a hostile glint.

He sighed when she turned around and reached up to loosen his tie and top button. Business was over, but he doubted that there would be much pleasure in this afternoon.

When they entered the house, he noticed that there was an empty hook by the door right beside Ruth's coat as though it was purposely left free. His hook then. He shrugged out of his coat and hung it there before turning back again to Ruth and her mother.

They all entered the lounge. Ruth sat down in the lone chair and her mother on the sofa. That left him with a difficult choice. Next to the interrogator? Or perhaps he should insist Ruth stand so that she could sit in his lap. No. Being flippant, even just mentally, wasn't going to help in this situation. Instead, he settled for sitting on the arm of the chair and draping his arm behind Ruth, hand on her shoulder and tracing her collarbone with his thumb. If he was going to play the man-friend, then he would do it right. After only the barest hesitation, her hand came to rest on his knee with her arm lying along his thigh, and he found that he enjoyed the warmth there.

The discussion began with pleasantries and questions about his trip, to Amsterdam apparently. At least Ruth had sent him somewhere moderately interesting and that he could discuss with ease. He was able to deflect most of the questions about his work politely by invoking state secrets and a thank you very much for not pressing.

As good British citizens they of course had to discuss the weather, and they were all in agreement that while it had been a wet spring there was hope for a brighter summer and anyway they could all remember a spring a few years back when they were sure they'd seen Noah building a new ark.

With surprising speed, the conversation turned to a family event that was coming up; some cousin or other was having a birthday or graduation or something. He probably could have followed the conversation a little better if Ruth's hand had not drifted to the inside of his knee and her index finger was not drawing tiny patterns on his thigh. As it was, he was having some difficulty remembering exactly why he had thought it would be a bad idea to scoop her into his lap. Ruth was being evasive about attending the family event, but her mother was being doggedly persistent. Ruth was smiling in that way she had of lifting the corners of her mouth while her eyes said that she was anything but happy, and her shoulder was growing progressively tense under his palm.

Ruth was saying in a strained voice, "I can't make any promises Mother. James may have to be out of town that week. I've explained this before, and I don't know that I feel comfortable…"

"I think we could manage, dear. I'm sure I could find some way to be here," his words were out almost before he thought. Almost but not quite. Spooks don't live for very long if they speak without thinking.

Ruth turned to look at him in surprise and just a hint of anger. The glares her mother had been sending his way melted and her smile warmed.

"There. You see Ruth," she said with a triumphant glance at her daughter whose hand had tightened painfully on his knee, "Sometimes you just need to ask."

"Yes, I do see," she replied in a tight voice, "Would anyone like tea? Or something else? Did they feed you on the plane James?"

She stood while he was still stuttering out his answer that he hadn't been fed, and he would very much like something else. Her mother shot him a sympathetic glance.

"Perhaps you should follow her," she nodded at Ruth's retreating back.

"I'm afraid that I should," he said, "I seem to have stuck my foot in it."

Her mother leaned toward him conspiratorially, "Between you and I, she's never been very fond of this particular cousin. I suspect she was only using you as an excuse."

"Ahh. Thank you," he leaned toward her and winked. She blushed almost as prettily as Ruth before he excused himself to go to the kitchen. Good. He had made a connection with her. It would be much easier to continue this ruse.

_**Reviews are always welcome and appreciated.**_


	3. The Confrontation

_**Thank you again for the reviews for this bit of fluff.**_

_**Disclaimer: Don't own them. Wish I did. Earn nothing from them. Wish I did.**_

When he entered the kitchen, Ruth was leaning against the sink with her eyes closed and shoulders slumped. The kettle was overflowing. He stepped closer and reached around her to turn off the tap. She straightened in surprise and turned to face him. He didn't back away, reasoning that they needed to stay close so they wouldn't be overheard. It had absolutely nothing to do with his enjoyment of watching her face as she puzzled through how to salvage this afternoon, or how he could almost feel her breath ghosting against his neck. He waited. Silence was the best interrogation technique after all. After a few moments he realized that unfortunately his analyst knew that and their time was limited.

He broke the silence, "How long?"

"Three years," she answered with a sigh pushing against his chest gently so that she could step around him to put the kettle on.

"Three years?!"

"Shhh. Quiet please. She's not deaf," she hissed, biting her lip.

He lowered his voice to a whisper and moved closer to her again; hissing into her ear, "Very well. Ms. Evershed, could you kindly explain to me how we have been dating for three years when we've only known each other for two?"

His attention was drawn by her sharp intake of breath which caused her chest to rise just enough to touch his. He closed his eyes for a moment as he fought down his distraction and concentrated on her answer.

"Because I'm not dating you. I'm dating James."

He couldn't help the half smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, and she read his thoughts, "I mean I've pretended to date a fictional man named James. Look, I realize that this is insane, and you may very well sack me after this and I wouldn't blame you but just accept for now that for a variety of reasons my family believes that I've been dating James for the past three years and please help me maintain this fiction for the rest of the afternoon."

She was babbling. He reined in his anger and watched her eyes for a few heartbeats. This wouldn't work if she was nervous, and for some reason, the thought of her being embarrassed in front of her mother tugged at his heart. He blew a harsh breath out of his nose and gave her a tight smile, "Needs must. I will help you this afternoon." She started to thank him, but he cut her off with a raised finger, "If you will answer two questions."

She nodded and darted a glance toward the door. Her mother seemed to be keeping well away. In order to let James make up with her daughter he supposed. The kettle started boiling, however, and he stepped back to let her work on the tea.

"Why does she think that_ I_ am your long term 'man-friend'?" He couldn't help the way his mouth twisted wryly on the incongruous word.

She sighed, "There was a picture. From the George. Our liquid lunch after the EERIE exercise. Remember?"

He did remember. Quite well actually. He had spent the better part of that liquid lunch explaining, not apologizing, never apologizing, to Ruth exactly why it had been necessary for him to pretend to have been exposed to the VX gas. He had been shocked by how affected she had seemed to be by the exercise. He remembered leaning close to her so that she could hear him over the noise and letting his hand rest on her arm while admiring the flush that the alcohol added to her cheeks.

"Anyway, Danny gave me a copy of a picture. Of us. She saw the picture and just assumed. I didn't want her to think that I was cheating on James so…"

He nodded. That made sense. In an odd sort of way. As much as anything did about this afternoon. His hand went to the back of his neck to rub out the tension that was gathering there. He decided to go on to his next question.

"Are we living together? I mean James and yourself of course."

Her cheeks flamed, and he had to smile internally. She had caught his small dig.

"Um, no, actually," she swallowed quickly and studied the floor, "we're just to the toothbrush stage."

"Toothbrush stage?" There was a stage to relationships that involved toothbrushes? No wonder he'd always been utter rot at anything but sex.

"Yes. James keeps a few things at mine, including a toothbrush, and I keep a few things at yours. I mean James'. To make things easier," she explained and then added unnecessarily, "If we stay with each other."

"Ahh. I see," he said and then he leaned back thoughtfully against the counter with one arm resting on his abdomen and the other rubbing his temple. A headache was definitely imminent.

She apparently took his silence as acceptance and continued to put things on a tea tray. Milk. Sugar. Hobnobs.

He lifted his eyebrow at her, "No sandwiches? I'm famished. Remember? I had nothing on the flight."

She gave him a genuine half-smile and relaxed visibly before crossing to the fridge, which just happened to be right beside him. Good. Now she was at ease. Time to throw her off balance again. He grabbed her wrist, and she gasped in surprise.

"Why aren't we living together? Three years Ruth. Surely that implies a certain level of commitment," he was studying her intently, leaning forward, wanting the answer to this as much as if he really was James.

At that moment, they both heard a floorboard creak from the doorway and looked up to see Ms. Bickley standing just outside the kitchen. She gave them a guilty smile and said a little too brightly, "Do you need any help? I didn't think tea would take quite this long."

Ruth threw her an exasperated look, and Harry took his cue as well as James would have, "That's my fault, Ms. Bickley. I've been distracting Ruth, but I hope I'm at least a little bit forgiven." The last was said with a quick glance at Ruth whose eyes darted toward her mother before she gave him a short nod and a warm smile.

He decided that that particular smile was worthy of a rescue so he stepped forward to guide her mother into the dining room, "Now, I was hoping that you could give me a better idea of what Ruth was like as a child."

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	4. The Interrogation

_**A little more of this little story, and I want to add a giant thank you to CrazyMaryT who read this story weeks ago and urged me to post it. **_

_**Disclaimer: Still don't own them. Wish them far less harm than the writers of Spooks.**_

By the time that Ruth carried the tray into the dining room, her mother was regaling _James_ with a story about the time that Ruth had been lost when she was eight only to be found after a six hour search in the gardening shed with Homer's _Iliad _on her lap, fast asleep.

The twinkle in Harry's eyes when he looked up at her nearly took her breath away. That twinkle watched her reaction while he said, "Yes. I could see that, Elizabeth. She still gets lost in a good book more often than not." She nearly shook her head in wonder in the realization that somewhere between the kitchen and dining room, all of five steps; her spy was now on a cozy, first-name basis with her mother.

Ruth set the tea on the table and without thinking prepared Harry's cup with the precise amount of milk and sugar that he always took. At the same time, he was putting two sandwich halves and three biscuits on her plate. She lifted her eyebrows at him in surprise. She didn't like that many sweets, and he knew it. He just lifted his own brows in reply and said firmly, "You've probably not had anything since breakfast and only toast for that. You always forget to eat."

He was right of course, and now that he mentioned it she did feel a bit peckish, but it was still annoying. Although a quick glance at her mother showed that she was delighted with the exchange and completely enamored with James. What was it about this man and his ability to charm women? Probably that pouty lower lip. And the voice, she supposed. His rather nice sultry voice. When he glanced up at her again, she also thought it might have a little to do with those soft, hazel eyes and that twinkle.

She was so distracted by her thoughts that she forgot to pour her mother's tea. A throat clearing from her mother's direction alerted her to her mistake. She quickly served her mother and then sat down to enjoy her tea, sandwiches, and three biscuits, smiling to see that Harry was enjoying three sandwiches and four biscuits. She rolled her eyes. Ever the competitor. He saw the eye roll and smiled before taking a huge bite of his sandwich.

She took great pleasure in seeing the smile wiped off his face by her mother's next statement, "Now that I've told you one of Ruth's deep, dark secrets, you must return the favor, James."

Ruth fought the urge to grin at the look of sheer panic in her spy's eyes. For goodness sake, the man met with some of the most powerful people in the country on at least a weekly basis; surely he could answer the questions of a twice-widowed pensioner from Exeter.

Her mother continued as Harry chewed his sandwich very, very slowly, "How did you meet my Ruth? She's always shied away from telling me."

Now it was Ruth's turn to panic. It wasn't as if they'd had time to discuss anything like that.

After a pause while she waited for Harry to answer, she admonished, "Mother don't quiz the poor man. He's had a long trip," but Harry cut her off with an upraised hand.

"I don't mind at all," he said and gave her his most innocent look. "I was just surprised you hadn't told her. It's hardly a state secret."

He smiled warmly at her mother who glanced at Ruth with a smug smile of her own. Frustrating, infuriating, conniving spook. He was conspiring with her mother against her.

Harry glanced down at the table, then at her mother with a flash of amusement. When he started speaking, though, he kept his eyes fixed on hers with that something extra in them that she had seen glimpses of before.

"We met at work," he said simply.

Another flash of panic ran through her mind as she wondered whether Harry remembered that her mother thought she worked in the office overseeing agricultural imports.

"Ruth brought some information about the decline in annual citrus imports from Israel to a meeting." He glanced toward her and the twinkle let her know he knew exactly what she'd been thinking. She should never have doubted the memory of her spy. "Her arms were overloaded with that information actually, and a bit of that information scattered on the floor."

"Of course," her mother interjected, but Harry continued as though he hadn't heard her.

"I made a rather poor joke at her expense." The tips of his ears tinted a faint pink. Was he embarrassed? He had a right to be. It had been an awful joke. Then his eyes broke away from hers to look back at her mother. "She smiled, and, well, she has a very nice smile." He glanced back at her, and she graced him with that same smile which he returned. He hurried through the rest of his explanation, "After that, we kept bumping into each other. I will admit that on my part I deliberately sought her out to answer difficult questions about every food product I could recall. Your daughter is a brilliant woman, Elizabeth. Eventually, I realized that I needed to stop making up excuses to talk to her about work and take her on a proper date. Surprisingly, she said yes."

Ruth's eyes dropped to the table. It was a little too close to what could be the truth for her to be completely comfortable.

Her mother broke the silence by saying, "That is a lovely story James. Thank you for sharing it with me. And for what it's worth, I agree. Ruth is quite a brilliant woman."

Ruth looked up at her in surprise. She couldn't remember her mother ever saying that before. Of course then her mother broke the magic of the moment by explaining how Ruth attempted to teach Latin to her bear, stuffed rabbit, and two dolls when she was seven. There were many things Harry didn't need to know about her and that was one of them. A quick glance at him told her that he didn't agree, and she decided the best course was to just relax and enjoy the rest of the afternoon. At least her mother didn't have any embarrassing baby pictures to show him.

After tea, her mother stood and insisted on hurrying away. Ruth had to admit to not trying her hardest to dissuade her. Working out this situation with her spy was her chief concern now. As she saw her mother out, Harry started clearing away the dishes.

At the door, her mother caught her arm and said, "Darling, he's lovely. Now I know what you see in him despite his age and all the travel. He does have a point, though, three years shows commitment, and he's obviously head over heels for you. I do hope you can work this out. You really should give him a chance."

Harry didn't turn away from the sink when she returned to the kitchen. He had draped his jacket and tie over a chair and had his sleeves rolled up, revealing lovely forearms. Pausing for a moment, she smiled to see her spy doing something so domestic. She picked up a drying towel and came to stand beside him.

"She's gone?"

"She's gone," she answered with a weary sigh.

"She seems nice. I can see a bit of her in you," he said.

She didn't reply. He noticed the slight tightening of the skin around her eyes of course. He always did.

"You don't agree?"

She glanced up and passed a plate back to him, "You missed a spot."

He took it from her with the stiff way that said he disagreed but it wasn't worth arguing about.

"I've always thought I was more like my father," she said quietly. "She sent me to a boarding school right after he died. And there have been… other things. We've been getting closer though, since my stepbrother," a brief hesitation over her choice of word, "died."

He leaned toward her just enough for her to notice the almost offer of support. For a moment she thought he might brush her shoulder with his, but then he leaned back. He knew the details of Peter's death. She'd had to ask him for leave to go to the funeral after all.

She swallowed hard against the tears that threatened. She might have had her own issues with Peter, but she certainly wouldn't have wanted him to go in that way. In despair. Depression had threatened her far too often in her life for her to be completely at ease in knowing that it had overtaken her stepbrother.

To his credit, Harry continued to hold his tongue. Thank goodness he seemed to have a sixth sense about when words were neither needed nor appreciated. A quick glance at him from the corner of her eye told her that he had a worried frown and was watching her.

They washed the few remaining dishes in silence, and that was enough time for her to beat back her tears and focus on better things. For instance, standing here beside her spy doing such a mundane task was a pleasure. For a moment she could pretend that they really did almost live together and were clearing up after a guest had left. When they finished, Harry took the towel from her and dried his hands thoughtfully, frown dissipating as he saw that her distress had lessened.

"Now, Ruth, I believe I've kept my end of the bargain," he said, fixing his eyes on hers.

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She had promised after all.

_**Reviews are always welcome and appreciated.**_


	5. The Drink

_**A little bit more of the fic. This one is mostly already written so while I may drag out the fun, I can promise quick updates. Glad a few people are enjoying it.**_

_**Disclaimer: Not owned by me. I earn nothing from them but sleepless nights.**_

Ruth delayed as much as possible by offering him a drink, which he naturally accepted. She produced a bottle of very good whiskey, a little less than half full. At least she had good taste, although the amount of whiskey that was missing disturbed him a bit. Ruth drinking to excess while alone was not something he wanted to contemplate. Then the alternative of her drinking with someone, a male someone, struck him, and he hoped that she had just had the bottle for a very long time.

"Only a little, Ruth. You'll not get out of this by getting me drunk," he teased her lightly and watched carefully for her reaction. The minute relaxing of her shoulders and the smile she gave him when she handed him his glass was his reward.

He was surprised when she left the bottle on the counter and withdrew a bottle of wine from the fridge to fill her own glass.

"You're not having any of this?" he asked.

She wrinkled her nose, "I've never been a fan of whiskey."

That worried him. She must have had someone else here, probably a male someone. "But, um…," he indicated the lowered level of the liquid in the bottle and tried desperately not to imagine the other man who had been here. A man who enjoyed good whiskey. A man who was here frequently enough to have drunk half the bottle. He tried even more desperately not to imagine her tasting that very good whiskey from the other man's lips.

She sighed and finished pouring her wine. "I thought it made sense to have something here that my family would know that I would never drink; something especially for James. And it wouldn't look very believable if there was a full bottle, would it?"

He smiled. His analyst was certainly clever and had put a bit of thought into this ruse. The broadness of his smile had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that there was not apparently another man who came here and enjoyed this good whiskey and Ruth. "So what did you do with the rest?" Then a thought horrified him, "You didn't pour it down the drain, did you?"

She laughed out loud before clapping her hand over her mouth to stop herself. Despite his discomfort at being laughed at, he couldn't resist enjoying her good humor. He leaned toward her and studied the flush on her cheeks.

He fixed her with a stern glance, "There's nothing funny about wasting good whiskey, Ms. Evershed. This is thirteen year old single malt. There's only so much of this in the world."

She fixed him with an equally steady glance and inclined her head toward him, matching his formal tone, "You are absolutely right, Mr. Pearce, which is why most of that thirteen year old single malt made its way into the decanter in your office."

He was unfortunately taking a sip at that precise moment, and it even more unfortunately went down the wrong way, causing him to cough and splutter in an undignified manner. Not exactly the image he was wanting to project. Since she clapped him helpfully on the back and then remained at his side with her hand on his back and watching him with a worried frown, he decided that he didn't mind looking undignified at all.

"You snuck whiskey into my office and put it in my decanter?" he asked. "I'll never believe that security is that lax. What if it had been poison? Surely someone saw you."

"You do realize how early I go to the office sometimes don't you?" She laughed and her eyes brightened. "And really? Poison? You're not that bad of a boss Harry."

"Not that bad? So I'm only a little bit of a bad boss, am I?" He smiled down into her bright eyes and forgot all about James and whiskey and work for a moment.

Her breath caught, and she stepped back. "You're not a bad boss at all. One of the best I've ever had actually, except when you're in a temper. Then you're like a bear with a toothache."

A retreat. Damn. Not what he wanted. He straightened and cleared his throat, "Yes, well, as entertaining as this discussion of your sneaking skills, the lax security on the Grid, and my resemblance to a bear is, I think it's time that I have an explanation from you."

She took another step back and a deep breath, "Of course. Would you like something else to eat? I mean those sandwiches couldn't have been very filling and it would be no trouble to make something. I don't have much. I wasn't able to do my shopping today, but I could do a decent fried rice or maybe an omelet or we could call out. There's an Indian place…"

Babbling again. That would never do. He held up his hand and spoke in his most soothing tones, "Ruth, tea was fine. I'm not hungry at all just now." He fought down the hope that this explanation would take long enough that he could reasonably encourage her to continue it over dinner.

She calmed visibly and nodded, then indicated the kitchen table. "Would you like to sit? It may be a long conversation."

He shook his head slightly, "Why don't we go through to the lounge? It'd be more comfortable in there."

She nodded, and he stepped back to allow her to lead the way. As she passed him, he leaned forward and said quietly beside her ear, "You can take all the time you want."

_**Reviews are welcome and appreciated as always.**_


	6. The Explanation

_**Many thanks for the reviews. Still fluffy but some more explanation here. Hope it's still enjoyable.**_

_**Disclaimer: Still do not own them or earn anything from torturing them.**_

Did the man have any idea what his voice did? A surreptitious glance over her shoulder told her that he might. His expression was too innocent. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and led the way to the lounge. She settled on one end of the sofa and waited for him to sit in the chair. He surprised her by sitting beside her instead, just a centimeter closer than she would have liked. He turned toward her and laid one arm loosely along the back of the sofa while he twirled his tumbler thoughtfully in his other hand.

Infuriating man. He was doing this on purpose to disconcert her. Sometimes she wondered if her spy thought she was a complete idiot. She closed her eyes. No. Anger, even just internally, would not help her. She wanted to keep her very interesting job and her very interesting spy. Doing that would require that she keep calm and explain this in a way that didn't make her sound like a delusional lunatic. She took a large sip of her wine and began.

"It's silly how it all started really. I was still at GCHQ, of course," she looked at him. He nodded, slight impatience tightening his lips. She should finish this quickly. He probably had plans for tonight. For some reason that thought made her sadder than the thought of losing her job so she hurried on in a subdued voice.

"I didn't want to stay at GCHQ for the rest of my career, so I was working long hours. Volunteering for extra work, long nights, the weekends; that sort of thing. My mother didn't like it. She thought I was wasting my youth on my career." She paused to address the expression on his face, "Don't laugh Harry. She actually did say that."

He smiled, "It must have surprised her when she found out today that that time was spent meeting your _man-friend_."

She looked at him sharply, but when she assured herself that his smile was amused and not mocking she continued, "One weekend, I cancelled an appointment that I'd made with her. On impulse I told her that I had a date."

His lips twisted wryly, and he relaxed against the cushions, feet stretched out in front of him, looking like he would be perfectly content to stay on her sofa for hours. "Which would be when James finally threw caution to the wind and asked to meet you away from the office."

"Mmmm. I suppose that is what she'll think now." She relaxed against the cushions as well and turned her body more toward him. "It was amazing how easy that made it. She just accepted it without question. After that it became almost second nature. Soon, she didn't even wait for me to make the excuse. She assumed that any time I wasn't here when she called or missed some event that I was on a date."

"Ahhh. She made up your legend then," he said, taking a large sip of whiskey and chuckling. "It's always easiest that way."

"Hmm?" she lifted her eyebrows at him inquiringly.

"People will believe what they want to believe," he explained, "If someone is looking for an investor, and they meet a man in the right place who is dressed in the right way then they assume that he has money to invest. If a man wants a particular sort of company and meets a woman dressed in a particular way, he assumes she wants the same. If a woman wants her somewhat reticent daughter to find someone special then…"

She stiffened, "Somewhat reticent? What do you mean by that?"

He straightened, instantly alert. Holding his free hand up to calm her, he said, "I didn't mean any insult, Ruth." Against her will, she relaxed again. When he said her name like that she couldn't possibly be angry with him. "I meant just what I said. I choose my words carefully," his voice reached the level of a low purr. "I only meant that you hold quite a bit of yourself back. A man has to work to get to know you."

He kept his eyes locked with hers the whole time, and she thought she read an additional meaning there. That he wouldn't mind doing that work.

She tore her eyes away from his and admitted, "Well, you are right about that, which leads to the next part. My mother would never have believed that I suddenly had a swinging single life, so I always told her it was the same man; James. He's older than me. Disastrous first marriage so he's commitment shy. Works for the diplomatic service so he's unfortunately away for weeks at a time. That part made it easier for her not to meet him. And works behind the scenes. All very hush, hush so he can't have his picture taken often." She leaned toward him conspiratorially for the last bit, and he leaned toward her as well.

He laughed in that goofily wheezy way that he had when he was genuinely amused. She was almost offended until she realized that he was not laughing at her.

"Brillant, Ruth. You're brilliant," he said with a broad smile. "Really. It's a perfect legend for what you needed. But, um, what about the toothbrushes?"

"The toothbrushes?"

"Yes, you said that we, I mean you and James, were at the toothbrush stage," he explained, watching her expectantly.

"Oh." She was suddenly nervous again. Had he moved even closer? She would have shifted away from him, but her back was already pressed against the arm of the sofa so instead she started to trace patterns on the cushions with her finger. "Well, that was an accident really," she took another quick sip of her wine. "About six months after all this started, I got the feeling that my mother and some of my other family were suspicious, especially since they'd never met my mysterious diplomat. I had decided to let my mother believe that James and I had gone off each other. Actually, I was trying to decide whether it should be a horrid break-up. You know, find him in bed with another man or something like that. I thought that would buy me at least another six months of mourning and throwing myself into my work so that I could forget the bas…"

He stopped her, "Now, now. Watch your language. That's me you're talking about." She rolled her eyes at his mock scolding.

"Anyway," she continued. "I didn't have to do that. I had a cousin who showed up for a surprise Sunday visit."

"Hmm. Probably hoping to catch you and James in flagrante," he murmured into his tumbler as he took another sip.

Blood rushed to her face as she had the momentary image of being in flagrante with her spy. He noticed her blush and quirked an eyebrow at her, infuriatingly perceptive spy that he was. She chose to ignore the inquiry.

"Well, obviously she didn't. I had just gotten out of bed." He started coughing then as his whiskey must have gone down the wrong way yet again, and she paused to look at him with concern. That was the second time that had happened. Did he have a problem? It wouldn't do for her spy to choke to death on her sofa.

When his coughing had subsided, he motioned for her to continue. "Go on. You had just gotten out of bed…" He shifted away from her and crossed his legs.

She watched him in confusion. "Oh, yes, I was washing up after breakfast, but I hadn't washed the dishes from the day before so I had two mugs, two plates,..."

"And she assumed that James had breakfast here," he finished for her, "and probably dinner the night before."

She smiled, remembering the shock on that particular cousin's face. "Mmmhmm. Rather satisfying actually. I never cared for that cousin."

"Ohh. Is that the cousin with the party you're trying to avoid?" he asked and threw her off balance again.

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	7. The Distraction

_**A short little interlude. Hope at least some are still enjoying.**_

_**Disclaimer: Not owned by me. Believe it or not since I am posting this for free instead of earning mega millions. I earn nothing from these guys but sleepless nights and daydreams.**_

He hadn't intended to throw her off balance again so soon, but the image of her in her night clothes still had him reeling slightly. In her night clothes and standing in front of the sink washing dishes, hands soapy, leaning forward. He closed his eyes against that image. Did she wear pyjamas or a night dress? Or maybe just a shirt. A short shirt. He needed to stop. He was torturing himself. Did she wear a bra to bed? He swallowed suddenly and shook his head to force himself to pay attention to the answer to his question.

"What makes you think I'm trying to avoid Nancy's party?" she asked, wary again.

"Your mother thought you might be using me, I mean James, as an excuse to get out of going to the party," he explained and shifted a little further away. He was having difficulty staying focused when he could almost feel the heat from her body. Besides, he told himself, he didn't want to intimidate her.

"Ahh," she said, studying him carefully, "She told you that after you threw me under the bus, did she?"

"I did not throw you under the bus," he said indignantly but changed when he met her steady look, "Well, maybe just a little nudge, but I needed to build some trust with your mother. She was looking daggers at me from the moment she saw me. What had you told her about me, I mean James?"

She swallowed quickly, "She has wondered at times if you, I mean James, might be married or just using me. I've implied that it's you, I mean him, that's leery of commitment. She thinks there has to be some reason we're not living together yet, and your little question certainly didn't help that. Now she'll think it's all me. Thank you for that." She finished by fixing him with a glare.

Her anger was a bit much. He had played along with her ruse very well he thought, given the circumstances. His jaw clenched to hold back the retort that threatened. "It's a valid question," he defended himself, "and I didn't know that she was just outside the door. It was a way to make a connection though."

"Well, you bloody well had her eating out of your hand before she left," she muttered into her glass and then looked up at him with narrowed eyes, "How do you do that?"

It was his turn to fix her with a steady look. "Ruth, I'm a spy. It's what I do. I build trust with people. It's a role, and I play it well. And helped you out of a tight spot by doing it this afternoon, I might add," he finished forcefully.

She looked down at her glass again, a wrinkle of concern between her brows. She stood quickly and turned toward the kitchen. "I need a refill. Would you like more as well?"

No. No. No. No. She was not going to run away. Not when they'd been doing so well. He jumped up and grabbed her wrist to stop her, "Are you angry with me?"

"Why would I be angry? As you say, you've been very helpful this afternoon," she said, not turning to face him.

"Then why won't you look at me?" he asked, letting his hand drop from her wrist.

She turned around slowly to face him. "You play a role to build trust," her voice was flat, "Is that all you're doing with me? Building trust so that I tell you this horribly embarrassing secret. Then you can have a good laugh before you sack me? Or use this against me in some other way?"

He willed her to meet his gaze so that she could see the earnestness there, "Ruth, if I were going to sack you over this, then I would do so without toying with you. Actually, I'm impressed by your cleverness, and it's obvious you've only done this to deflect unwanted attention. It's not as if I think you've deluded yourself into thinking James is real. If I did, I'd have to send you to Tring for a bit." He lifted the corner of his mouth ruefully at that image. If he sent his analyst to Tring, she'd be running it within a week.

His voice dropped so that she could hopefully hear the truth of his next statement, "I don't play a role with you Ruth. You're one of the few people that I can say that about."

She studied his eyes carefully, and he forced himself to keep them open and honest for her. It fought against every self-protective instinct that he had, but he never wanted her to believe that he was hiding from her. She didn't respond for long enough that he was worried until she gave him an accepting nod, "I'm glad Harry."

Relief flooded through him at the softened look in her eyes. He swallowed and started to lean toward her inviting lips, but his brain sent out an immediate red flash to his disobeying body. Straightening suddenly, he cleared his throat and lifted his empty tumbler. "Well, that's good then. I believe you promised me a refill."

The briefest flash of disappointment crossed her face before she took the tumbler from him, fingers brushing against his. While he was trying to process the possible reasons for her disappointment and the tingle of excitement that ran through him from her touch, she surprised him again with her next statement.

"That I did. And I still need to show you 'James in the box'"

_**Reviews are always appreciated.**_


	8. The Box

**_The next bit of my fluffiness. kudos to NatesDate for thinking like Harry. _**

**_Disclaimer: See previous seven chapters. _**

It was a moment before she felt him following her. She'd surprised him again. Good. It was good for him to not always be the one with the upper hand. She poured her wine and his whiskey slowly and silently, not turning around to look at him. To be fair, he was maintaining his silence as well. Leave it to her to have to explain all this to her blasted, infuriating spy.

She turned around and handed his tumbler back to him. They each took a sip of their respective drinks, and then he gave her the satisfaction of breaking down first. The crinkle around his eyes made her suspect that he'd known exactly what she was trying to do.

"You were going to tell me about 'James in the box'," he prompted.

She took another sip of her wine before setting it on the counter and then turned toward the cupboard, "Actually, it might be easier to show you."

She took out an empty, medium-sized box. Again without looking back to see if he was following, she started toward the stairs.

He stopped her again with his low purr of a voice, amusement evident, "Ruth, please tell me that you're not going to show me some type of blow up doll, because if you do, I might have to reconsider that trip to Tring."

"Harry," she said, turning to look at him and sharing his amusement, "Give me some credit. I actually thought I did a pretty good job, but I wouldn't mind your expert opinion."

He chuckled and followed the rest of the way without comment. Their first stop was the lavatory. She said, "After Nancy put two and two together to make ten, it occurred to me how easy it would be to make it seem that I had a frequent visitor." She stepped aside to let him see.

He studied the room for a moment, "Hmmm. Very good. Razor. Two toothbrushes—I'll assume the purple one is yours and the blue one is mine, I mean James's. Shaving brush and cup." He inclined his head. "Nice touch. Makes James look a little old-fashioned though. Did you mean that?"

"Well, he is older than me," she said, hoping that he wouldn't ask the logical next question.

"How much older?"

Bloody spy.

"Oh, fifteen years or so," she answered as nonchalantly as possible.

"Tut, tut, Ruth," he said, "first rule of creating a legend. Be specific. As attentive as you are to detail, I find it hard to believe that you don't know his exact age and birthday."

She sighed, "Seventeen years."

"Seventeen years? Robbing the cradle isn't he?" he asked with amusement, and she turned around to see the familiar twinkle in his eye. So he did know that was the exact age difference between himself and her.

"I hardly think it's robbing the cradle when the woman in question has been out of one for over thirty years," she said quietly and the twinkle was replaced by a speculative look. She was so fascinated by that look that she started to babble, "Well, twenty would be too old and fifteen sounded like too much of a round number…"

"Ahh, seventeen is perfect then," he said softly. Was she imagining that the tips of his ears were pink and that his voice sounded strangled?

She took another deep breath and plunged ahead, "Harry, all these details and almost all the things; I made them up before I ever met you."

"Ruth, I believe you. Three years ago, you said." His voice sounded more steady. Her spy was back in control of himself. And she hadn't imagined his ears turning pink because that colour was definitely now fading.

Then in a lighter tone, he added, "So you didn't know that I use a shaving brush and soap? How did you get the toothbrush to look that worn?"

"I used it to clean the grout," she said, confused, "You use a shaving brush and soap? Isn't that odd? I thought not many men did that anymore. I thought I was giving James a unique touch."

"To clean the grout? Remind me never to use one of your toothbrushes," he chuckled and shrugged, "I've always used a shaving brush, except when I was in the field." He paused for a moment and then clearly decided to make a little offer of his own, "It makes me feel like home is different. Special."

She smiled and nodded, wanting to thank him for sharing this tiny personal piece of himself but not quite daring. Instead she turned back to the items on the vanity and began to place them gently in the box; razor, toothbrush. As she did so, she spoke quietly, "I put everything in here after. It would get in the way otherwise, and it would just..." She trailed off, not wanting to admit to her spy that having these items out all the time would be a reminder of what or who was missing from her life. His hand reached around her shoulder to lift the brush and cup into the box.

When she turned back to him, chest brushing against his in the small space, his eyes were twinkling gently at her, "I see now. 'James in the box'. And the whiskey downstairs, the hook left purposefully free?"

She smiled back at him and nodded. He shifted his eyes away from hers. Suddenly the lavatory seemed very small. To break the tension that had descended between them she asked, "So what do you think? Professional opinion. Is it convincing?"

His gaze trailed back over the vanity, and she was sure he probably could have placed each item back in its precise location if asked. He did have a good eye for details. Somehow when his eyes trailed over her items lying there, brush, make-up, face flannel, it seemed almost intimate. After a moment, he answered, "Very convincing. I can only think of two other items."

"Enlighten me."

"No comb…," he caught her eye and stopped, "You disagree, why?"

No, she was not going to tell him that. That would do neither of them any good. She would tell him the other reason, "I thought of that but there's no convincing way that I could make it look used. I mean with someone else's hair, that is."

"There is that," he agreed, "I suppose they would just assume he uses yours. Nothing wrong with sharing a hairbrush is there? But I have the feeling that there's another reason."

She paused and bit her lower lip. He prodded her, "Ms. Evershed…"

She blurted out, "Well, they have seen a picture of you and it's not as though you have very much to comb."

He laughed again, the goofy genuine one, "You have me there. I can assure you that I do comb what little bit is left to me every morning. And, um, I'm sure James would as well."

"You said there were two things," she prompted to drive the image of him just out of the shower, towel around his waist and combing his hair as far out of her head as humanly possible. Standing with chests almost touching in this very, very small space was not the time to be having thoughts like that.

He looked momentarily disconcerted, "No cologne. Most men would keep some here. Maybe even a gift from his, um, ahh,"

"Woman-friend," she supplied helpfully.

His eyes twinkled again and he nodded solemnly, "Thank you. Woman-friend. From you."

"That would be a bit expensive just to maintain this fiction, and I've never cared for cologne on a man," she said, "I've always just preferred the simple clean smell."

She almost missed his murmured response when she turned toward the door, "Then it's a good job I don't wear cologne."

She turned around sharply to meet his amused, twinkling gaze, and he added unapologetically, "I mean that James doesn't that is."

Bloody, infuriating spy.

**_Reviews are welcome as always. _**


	9. The Bedroom

_**More fluff and more of 'James in the box.'**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own them and earn nothing from them but pleasure.**_

Harry followed his analyst down the hall smiling. It was rather fun to tease her. Her cheeks could turn the most interesting shades of pink. He could barely keep his comments in check. Unfortunately, he couldn't blame it on the whiskey as he'd only had a glass and a half. In his heart, he knew that it had much more to do with being in the presence of his analyst in her own home. She was, despite a situation which must be mortifying for her, more relaxed than she usually was on the Grid, and he was enjoying himself immensely.

He thought over the way she had developed this legend of James. He hadn't been lying before when he told her that he thought it was remarkably clever. It was. If he had happened into her lavatory not knowing better then he would definitely have thought a man either inhabited this space with her or visited quite often. Jealousy reared its head for a moment, but he drove it back down. After all, James wasn't real. The grim thought occurred to him that it was only a matter of time, though, until there was a real James or Tom or Dick or there could even be a Harry he supposed. Suddenly he very, very much wanted there to be a Harry who was at the toothbrush stage with Ruth.

No. That was not a proper thought to be having about his analyst. He was her superior. She worked under him. Damn. There came that image of her writhing under him again. Maybe he should go back to the lavatory and splash cold water on his face or dunk his head or even scoop some into his trousers. Before he could do any of these unreasonable things though, she was opening a door at the end of the hall and turning back to him.

"Come along then. Most of James is in here. The bedroom," she said.

He managed not to groan and coherently said something about needing the loo. At least he thought it was probably coherent.

It took a few moments, copious amounts of cold water, and a stern talking-to in the mirror to bring his raging thoughts under control and make him ready to go back into the hall. This was ridiculous. For heaven's sake, he had faced Irish nationalists, Arab terrorists, and the bumbling cousins. All that was out there was one barmy, brilliant, beautiful analyst and a bedroom. He dropped his hand from the doorknob and splashed more cold water on his face.

When he stepped back into the hall, she was leaning against the open door of the bedroom and looking at him with a worried frown on her face. He gave in to his natural inclination to wipe that frown away by smiling kindly and walking toward her.

"So let's see what you've done here," he said, "I'll bet you were brilliant as usual in the bedroom."

Her eyes widened and if how he felt was any indication, he was sure his face was at least as red as hers. "I mean brilliant in developing the legend," he added belatedly.

She smiled at him and the redness dissipated somewhat along with the awkwardness. She stepped aside to let him enter before her. His eyes traveled around the room, detaching himself from knowing that it was her bedroom. As if he didn't know that Ruth slept in that bed every night, her warm scent on the sheets, wearing… He swallowed quickly. Not the right thoughts to be having right now. Begin again. If he didn't know that this was Ruth's room and hers alone, what would he think?

There were two ties draped over the side of the mirror. Nice touch that. He glanced at the partially open closet and thought he glimpsed the edge of a man's white shirt. Made sense. If James stayed over very often, it would be easiest to at least have a clean shirt and a couple of ties here. Then it wouldn't be quite so obvious that he was going back to work in the same suit from the day before. The image flashed through his mind of returning here with her after a long day on the Grid, unable to keep their hands off each other, crashing through the door, collapsing on the bed. He closed his eyes again. No. Not here. Not now. He would not have that thought here and now. After successfully tucking that image back inside the box in his head where it belonged, he turned his gaze toward the bed. There was a table on either side of it. Hers, he knew instinctively that it would be hers, had a lamp, three books in three different languages on it, a notebook, an assortment of pens, and a pair of ear muffs. He turned back to her.

"Ear muffs?"

She shrugged, "The heating is atrocious. It gets positively frosty in the winter."

He smiled at the image of her burrowed as deep in the bed as possible with ear muffs on her ears. She probably slept in pyjamas then. Better than a short shirt to keep her warm. Although someone to wrap around her would be even better. He closed his eyes again and turned abruptly back to his perusal of the room. He looked at the table on the other side of the bed. It was spartan in comparison to hers; another lamp, a book, a notebook, a pen and a pair of reading glasses.

He scowled at her. "I thought James was out of the country. Why are his glasses still here?"

"Oh, he's forgetful about them, so he just keeps extra pairs everywhere. Here, his office, his home."

She was making him sound positively senile. Was that how she saw a man his age? His scowl deepened. "Your James must really be past it. And a book in his 'woman-friend's bedroom? Surely he doesn't need that."

Her eyebrows were knitted together. "I had wondered about that. I just thought it looked more homey. I mean after all we can't just…"

He leaned forward in anticipation. So help him if she said what he thought she was going to say he didn't think he could hold himself back. His analyst's lips forming that particular expletive would undo him completely.

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on one's point of view, she didn't seem to be quite able to find the right words.

"I mean, we couldn't just…_be busy_ all the time."

He smiled, more in relief than amusement. And his desire to let her know just how not senile he was prompted his words. "I don't know about your James," he said, "but after being out of the country for weeks, I don't think I would want to do anything but_ be busy_. I certainly don't think I could concentrate on a book when the opportunity to _be busy_ presented itself. Especially if the opportunity to _be busy _was with…"

His insanely inappropriate comment was cut off by ringing from the direction of her bedside table. She lifted her phone off its charging cradle and frowned at the number before answering it.

_**Reviews are always welcome and appreciated.**_


	10. The Call

_**A little bit of a shift here. Hopefully, not too jarring. Although this is nothing compared to a typical episode. **_

_**Disclaimer: I still do not own them and I am still poor.**_

Their too interesting conversation was halted by the ringing of her phone and a number she didn't recognize. Her mind had to shift from wondering just how far Harry would push his innuendos to focusing on an entirely different conversation.

He had turned back to his perusal of her bedroom, stepping over to the bedside table and trailing his finger over her earmuffs. He had picked up a book to look at the title, but his eyes whipped back to her when she spoke in a tremulous voice, "I see. She's where? Yes, yes, of course, I'll be there as soon as possible."

She felt her knees weaken, and once again Harry had anticipated her need by grabbing the chair that was beside her wardrobe and putting it behind her. A firm hand on her shoulder urged her to sit down. She did and took a few steadying breaths before she looked up to meet his concerned gaze. "It's mother. A motor accident. They won't say anything more over the phone than that she's in serious condition. I need to…"

He was already pulling his mobile from his pocket and had pressed the speed dial before she could finish, "Michael? Yes, you're needed here straight away. Ms. Evershed needs to be taken to…" He looked back to her, and she supplied the name of the hospital.

"St. George's"

"St. George's. No, no, no, she's fine. It's a family member. Right then. We'll meet you at her front door. You have the address."

After the shock had worn off, she realized what Harry was doing. "Harry, there's no need for that. I can drive myself."

"Need or not it has been done. Come along now. If I know Michael, he'll be here in two shakes. Yet another man you have wrapped around your finger. Wouldn't do for us to keep him waiting."

He took her elbow and started to help her from the chair, but she resisted. "Harry, I am perfectly capable…"

"You are upset and have had two glasses of wine. Not much, granted, but I'll not take a chance on you having an accident."

She acquiesced reluctantly and let him guide her down the stairs. Once there, he pulled his tie around his neck and knotted it quickly while she put out food and water for the cats. Then he helped her into her coat and shrugged into his own. He gently took her keys from her trembling hand and locked the door behind them. Almost before she realized what was happening, the driver was holding the car door for her. She paused for a moment, remembering, "How's your daughter Mike?"

"Much better Ms. Evershed. We all appreciated the casserole, and she loved the book. Thank you."

She nodded and stepped into the car, scooting over to leave room for Harry who was standing back hesitantly. He leaned in, "Do you..?"

"Please come." When he still hesitated, she added in a softer voice, "I need you."

He spoke over his shoulder to Mike as he slid in beside her, "Carefully but quickly, Michael."

Her hand was on the seat between them. Harry enveloped it in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

His voice had a forced lightness, "No gloves Ruth? What will we do with you?"

She sniffed which was the precursor to a sob which caused Harry to wrap his arm around her and pull her head down to his shoulder. He allowed her to cry for a few minutes, stroking her arm. When her sobs had subsided, he asked, "What did they tell you?"

"Only that there had been an accident and that I should come to the hospital as soon as I was able," she said, taking his offered handkerchief and wiping her eyes.

He inexplicably smiled, "Well, there you have it. They wouldn't tell you to rush if she was…"

She returned his smile, "No, no they wouldn't, would they? Thank you Harry."

He glanced toward the front of the car and then back to her, "What was that about the casserole?"

"Oh, he was off a few weeks ago because his daughter was having her tonsils out. You remember. You had that substitute that you hated. I sent a casserole home for him and his wife and a book for Molly. It's horrid trying to cook with a sick child in the house, and I can remember being ready to climb the walls when I had mine out."

Harry looked at her in wonder for a moment, "So that's why he's wrapped around your finger. When I told him where I was going this afternoon, he almost wouldn't take me. wanted to be sure that I wouldn't ruin your weekend."

"Why did you come by?" she asked, remembering her earlier curiosity, "Not to meet 'James in the box', I'm sure. Especially since you didn't even know he existed, or rather doesn't exist."

He looked reluctant to answer for a moment, but then seemed to come to a decision, "There was some information that I wanted on an environmental protest group, the Friends of Gaia. Nothing urgent, but I came across the name and a recent speech which worried me…"

She nodded, glad to have something else to concentrate on and gave him all of the facts that she could off the top of her head as well as her opinion about their likely future actions which had a distant possibility of becoming violent. She knew the speech he was referring to, the leader's rhetoric seemed to be changing from 'protecting mother Earth' to 'taking back the land', a slightly more aggressive tone. She had already begun to look for connections to more militant groups, unusual purchases, or new members with violent backgrounds. He was right that there was nothing urgent about the information. She could easily have given it to him over the phone or it could have even waited until Monday, which made her wonder why he'd decided to come to her home on a Saturday afternoon.

By the time she had finished giving him the information and responding to his more specific questions, she looked up to see that they had arrived at the hospital. Mike pulled to the curb, and she put her hand on the door, reluctant to leave her spy's reassuring presence but certain that he likely had much better plans for his Saturday evening. "Thank you Harry for the ride and the distraction."

She was surprised when he exited the car after her and turned back to Mike, letting him know that they would find another way home.

When Mike had driven off, Harry took her arm to guide her toward the entrance. "I realize that it's presumptuous of me, but I thought you might like a friend."

"I would, but surely you have better things to do on a Saturday night than wait in a hospital with me," she said, turning from him so that she wouldn't see his disappointment about his ruined evening plans.

He stopped them just short of the entrance and pulled her to the side. "Ruth." When she didn't turn to him right away he repeated himself, "Ruth, look at me." She did and saw that his eyes were just inches from hers. "I have nowhere to be that is better than by your side."

_**Reviews are always welcome and appreciated.**_


	11. The Hospital

_**Hope this continues to please. Thank you for all your reviews, especially since I'm new to writing these two.**_

_**Disclaimer: See previous.**_

He would never be sure who moved first, and he doubted that she ever would be either. All he knew was that when he leaned down to speak earnestly to Ruth, his lips were just a breath away from hers. Then they weren't. They were touching her lips and caressing them. It wasn't exactly how he had imagined their first kiss, and he had, of course, imagined their first kiss many times. All of those times were tucked securely inside his heart in the box marked 'Ruth', 'Eyes Only', 'Keep Out', and 'Top Secret'. He had imagined everything from tentative, searching kisses seeking approval to angry kisses punctuating fierce arguments to passionate kisses pressed against a wall with hands roaming over each other's bodies to long, slow, exploratory kisses shared after a first date. He had never imagined anything like this; a reassuring touch of his lips to hers in front of one of the busiest hospitals in London with passers-by jostling him. No, it was not a very imaginative kiss, but when he drew back to see the pleasure in her eyes, he didn't think he could ever have imagined a more perfect one.

"We should, um," he said, motioning toward the entrance.

She took a step toward the door and then turned back to him. Reaching down, she linked her hand with his before stepping through the doors to the hospital. He followed her, gladly offering all the support he was capable of giving.

They found the receptionist and a few questions brought them the necessary information to send them to a waiting room near the surgical theatre. Once there, they found yet another receptionist who could only give them a bare minimum of information but was able to locate the triage nurse from A&E.

The minimal pleasantries were exchanged and Nurse Kimball, who seemed singularly efficient, quickly gave them the details they were seeking, "Ms. Bickley was in a two vehicle crash. It appears the other car strayed over the median. She was awake and alert at the scene and when she arrived here as well which is a good sign. I'm afraid she did suffer some rib fractures which resulted in a pneumothorax. She also has Colle's fracture of her wrist. Her worst injury though was a complex open fracture of her right femur. She is in surgery to repair that as we speak."

Harry glanced at Ruth from the corner of his eye. At her best she would likely know exactly what all that meant. However, at the moment she was not quite at her best so he addressed the nurse, "Could you repeat that one more time in English?"

She smiled kindly at him, "Certainly, Mr….?"

Harry had a flash of panic but Ruth did have enough presence of mind to save him, "Oh, I am sorry. This is James Salmon. He's my… He's with me."

With her. He liked the sound of that. There was no place that he would rather be than with Ruth.

"Very well, Mr. Salmon. Ms. Bickley has broken ribs which have resulted in a collapsed lung. That has been treated with a tube that will have to stay in her chest for a few days. There's a simple break of her wrist which can be treated with a cast. She's in surgery now to repair her right thigh which was broken in more than one spot. Also it was an 'open' break which means that the bone partially came through the skin so there's a significant risk of infection."

Ruth found her voice again, "But she will recover?"

"These are very serious injuries, but she should pull through. The important thing is that there doesn't seem to be any spinal or brain damage. She will likely need a lot of rehabilitation though and it might be a few months before she'll be able to stay on her own. Unfortunately the combination of the broken wrist and broken leg will make it difficult for her to get around for a little while. Do you know what her home situation is like?"

"She lives alone just outside of Exeter," Ruth said, "My stepfather died five years ago."

"Well, she will be in hospital for several days so you'll have plenty of time to make arrangements," the nurse finished diplomatically and then excused herself to return to her no doubt busy schedule.

There was nothing now but waiting. He was afraid that Ruth might try to insist on remaining here all night, but he would do his best to ensure that she left once her mother was safely out of surgery. She needed to rest.

After she was seated reasonably uncomfortably on a hard plastic chair, he went in search of coffee for him and tea for her. He also needed to make one discreet phone call to clear his evening.

He had his eyes closed as he spoke into his mobile. This was becoming much more complicated than it needed to be. "Yes, I do know that it's short notice, but I was hoping that you'd take pity on me, especially after that parking ticket last month. You've always been happy for the chance to see her before. Thank you. I do appreciate it. She loves it when you take care of her. I would appreciate it if you didn't spoil her too much. Actually, if you'd just keep her busy the rest of the weekend that might be best," he paused to listen and absentmindedly searched his pocket looking for the proper change for the machine before ending the conversation in his driest tone, "Thank you for being so understanding."

He turned around to see Ruth staring at him in puzzlement.

"Harry,"

"James," he corrected quickly and smiling his most gentle smile. "Remember? James Salmon."

"James then," she sighed, "I really don't want to bust up your weekend plans. Surely I can manage at this point."

He sighed, reflecting over his half of the conversation. He supposed it could sound like he was trying to foist a woman off on someone else. The disappointment evident in Ruth's face was something to ponder.

"Ruth, my weekend plans consisted of walking my dog, eating takeaway, watching rugby, and reading in bed until I fell asleep. If I felt particularly daring, I might even rent a DVD. What you just heard was me making arrangements for my neighbor to take care of my dog. I occasionally fix a parking ticket for him, and he makes sure Scarlett doesn't starve or tear up my house when I'm not there."

She smiled when he mentioned reading in bed, but this was neither the time nor the place to renew that conversation, and he was glad that she didn't.

Her eyes grew serious again , and she studied his face carefully, "Outside. Did you mean that?"

"That I couldn't think of a better place to be than with you? Certainly."

"No, not that," she said in frustration, "I mean, I do appreciate that, but what I meant was the, um, when you kissed me. Did you mean that?"

"Did I kiss you? I rather thought that you kissed me." His lips quirked up into a smile at the flush that was spreading over her cheeks as he wondered whether she realized she was staring at his lips.

"No, I did not." Her eyes flashed up to his indignantly. "Well, that is, I did kiss you back, but I distinctly remember that you kissed me first," she said, responding to his lowered voice by taking a step toward him.

"Are you quite sure?" he asked, leaning forward, her mouth and closeness becoming far too inviting. "Because if I did kiss you first, it would be something like this." He pressed his lips to hers and then grasped her upper arms to draw her closer. He didn't want to leave her in any doubt about who began this kiss.

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	12. The Waiting

_**Thank you so much for your reviews. I hope it continues to please.**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own, lease, or otherwise have any rights to these characters. However, I do think I make better use of them than their current owners.**_

This was much different from their kiss in front of the hospital. That kiss had been a reassurance, more than a friendly reassurance, but a reassurance nonetheless. This kiss was not passionate by any means, the midst of a hospital was neither the time nor place for that, but it was gentle, tender, and above all loving. When she pulled back, she saw all those emotions in his eyes as well. Now she didn't have to wonder about the other times when she had thought she had seen something in his expression. She knew.

"Harry," she began hesitantly wanting to answer everything she saw in his eyes.

"James," he corrected gently, "Ruth if you can't remember the legend you created, you'll make it impossible for me to."

Ahh. Yes. He was still in the legend. James. James her lover who was almost living with her. She bit her lower lip and stiffened. She dropped her eyes to his shoulder and kept them fixed there. Seeing that look in his eyes and knowing that it was all part of a lie was more than she could bear.

Her eyes darted up to his and she forced her lips into a quick smile, "Oh, yes, James. I need to get back to the waiting room. The surgeon could be coming out at any time I suppose."

His eyes narrowed and he was watching her with a puzzled expression, "Ruth…"

"Really I do need to go back," she said, backing out of his arms. He tightened his hold on her momentarily before letting his hands drop to his sides.

"Just a moment and I'll go with you," he sighed and turned to the machine, dropping coins in and making their selections. She waited, face turned away from him. She was grateful when he passed the paper cup of tea to her so that she had something to keep her from tying her hands into knots. He took his cup of coffee and placed his free hand on her lower back. She stiffened again, and could feel him hesitate but then he pressed his hand more firmly to the curve of her spine.

She forced herself to relax and started toward the waiting room, reluctantly grateful to have his support even if it was only feigned. She corrected herself. His support wasn't feigned. He was offering her all the support that a friend could give. It wasn't his fault if she wished he was there as more than a friend.

They settled into two remarkably uncomfortable chairs. She wondered at that. Why did hospitals have to make everything so miserable? Did they think that if they had comfortable chairs that people would actually want to stay there? Was there anything that could induce a sane person to remain in hospital for one second more than was entirely necessary? Her attention was drawn from these thoughts by Harry's shifting and settling into his chair. He draped one arm behind her and took a sip of his coffee. She leaned back slightly, enjoying the solid warmth of his arm.

Her eyes darted toward the surgical theatre. She was worried about her mother but also about the state her relationship with her mother. They'd never been particularly close. It was not that they were completely at odds. There were just too many little things between them for them to truly see eye to eye. In many ways they were polite acquaintances who visited each other out of obligation and habit instead of true warmth. From what the nurse had said, it was likely that either she would have to stay with her mother or her mother would have to stay with her for several weeks. She didn't mind the work, but she wasn't sure if they'd be able to stand each other for that long. Without realizing it, her hand had dropped to her spy's thigh and she was tracing patterns there absentmindedly with her index finger. She did realize, however, when the hand that had been resting on the chair behind her touched her shoulder with gentle pressure, and his thumb began to draw soothing circles on her collarbone.

She glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye. He was watching her carefully from the corner of his eye as well. When he saw her glance, he leaned toward her. "You should rest. The surgery is likely to take a long time."

"I don't think these chairs were designed to be restful," she said ruefully, "Maybe these should be in the interrogation rooms."

He gave her a small smile to acknowledge her feeble attempt at humor and then frowned in thought. "Is there anyone else we should call?"

She closed her eyes. Silly woman. She'd been so pre-occupied with her spy and with worry about her mother that she hadn't even thought about calling anyone else. Withdrawing her mobile from her coat pocket, she mentally reviewed all the calls she would need to make. Her throat tightened at the thought of repeating what little news she knew and answering the same questions multiple times; dealing with others' worry when she could barely focus on her own. She had just started to scroll through her contacts when Harry covered her hand with his.

"Is there one person that we could call that could be trusted to tell everyone else?"

She smiled at him in relief. Smart man, her spy. She should have thought of that. "Nancy is the biggest gossip of the lot."

"Find the number and I'll speak to her," he said, "That way she can't pepper you with questions you can't answer just yet."

"You don't have to…" she began.

His hand tightened on hers. "No, I don't, but I want to help you." Then he smiled, "And it will give Nancy an extra bit of juicy gossip to get a call from James."

She was too distracted by the warmth of his hand and the relief of his support to resist anymore. She pressed the number and handed the phone to him. He took it from her with his left hand and surprised her by wrapping his right arm back around her shoulders.

"Hello, may I speak to Nancy...," he lifted his eyebrows at her in question, and she supplied Nancy's last name silently and he repeated into the receiver, "Calen." She shook her head violently and corrected him, emphasizing the last letter, "I mean _Calum_."

"No, don't hang up. This isn't a marketer. I'm James, James Salmon. Ruth's, ahh, friend."

She could hear Nancy's exclamation on the other end of the line, and Harry's lips tightened around a smile. "Ruth is fine, but I'm afraid I do have some bad news."

Closing her eyes again, she leaned back against the arm that surrounded her and listened to his side of the conversation.

"Elizabeth has been in an accident. It seems she'll recover, but she is seriously hurt." He paused and listened patiently for a few moments before taking advantage of Nancy's need to take a breath.

"Ruth is terribly busy, but she asked that I call you. She assured me that you could be trusted to let everyone else know. You have no idea what a relief it is to have someone to rely upon."

She opened her eyes and rolled them at Harry. Spreading it a bit thick wasn't he. His mouth twisted wryly as he listened to Nancy. The thumb that had been drawing circles on her shoulder began to tap lightly. "No, no, I don't think you're needed here yet." Ruth sat up in alarm, but he tugged her back gently so that she was snug against his side. "Elizabeth's not out even out of surgery yet, and I doubt anyone will be allowed to stay with her tonight."

The warmth emanating from her spy was intoxicating. She felt the knots that nerves had begun to tie in her shoulders start to relax. Finally, the conversation ended, "Yes, of course, we'll call you when Elizabeth is out of surgery, and we're grateful for your willingness to help." Did he mean that? Were she and Harry a 'we'? Then she remembered. No. Of course not. He meant James. Her spy would always stay in the legend.

He clicked the mobile off and handed it back to her with a smirk, "Nancy says hello."

She smiled back at him. "And that is the woman you cheerfully condemned me to spend a long Saturday afternoon with."

"Us," he corrected, "I condemned us to spend a long Saturday afternoon with her. Surely by then we'll come up with a suitable excuse."

Us. We. This was all becoming terribly confusing. She definitely felt a headache approaching. She sighed and closed her eyes again.

He tightened his arm around her shoulders, drawing her head to rest against his chest. She started to pull away, but he spoke low in her ear, "Surely James can comfort his 'woman-friend' can't he?"

She still hesitated, but he kept his arm firmly around her. Finally, she relaxed. She needed this comfort, and he seemed perfectly willing to give it even if it was just as James. She'd sort out her confused feelings later. It didn't take long for the rhythmic lullaby of his heartbeat and warmth of his arm to lull her to sleep.

She awoke what seemed a long time later with a start and a cramp in her neck. She sat up straight and looked over at him to gauge his reaction. She also darted a surreptitious glance down at his lapel to ensure that she hadn't drooled on him. The embarrassment of that really would have sent her over the edge. He was studiously keeping his gaze on the wall across from them, and she noted that there was the small crinkle between his brows which indicated that he was concentrating on something. The mysteries of domestic terrorism? This week's rugby match? What to buy at Tesco's later? When she stretched, his gaze shifted to look at her with a soft smile. None of those then.

He leaned toward her, and she felt his breath ghosting against her ear, "Salmon? Seems an unusual last name."

If she turned her head a fraction of an inch, she could brush her lips against his cheek. Surely if this were James, he wouldn't mind. Would her spy? She was stopped short of doing just that by his prodding voice.

"Come now, Ruth, it must have some significance."

She closed her eyes and reined in her thoughts, trying to stuff her desire forcefully back into the box inside her heart marked 'Harry', 'Eyes Only', 'Keep Out', and 'Top Secret'.

"He was a spy, in the Bible."

"There are spies in the Bible?" he asked, eyes flicking to hers again and then caressing her face as if he knew exactly what she had been thinking.

"Many actually," she said, swallowing and trying desperately to concentrate. "It never says in so many words, but he was sent into Jericho by Joshua…"

Harry sang softly, "Joshua fought the battle of Jericho…"

"Exactly," she looked at him in surprise.

He answered her look, "Contrary to popular opinion I have been to church once or twice."

"Yes, well, Joshua sent two spies into Jericho and they were hidden by a," she hesitated, "working woman named Rahab. Rahab and her family were the only people from Jericho to survive when the walls came tumbling down." She referenced the children's song he had started to sing with a small smile.

"Mmmm. The two oldest professions working together," he said, "More interesting than I would have thought."

She smiled at him, "Later, Rahab is mentioned in the genealogy of Jesus. She was married to a man named Salmon."

"Who naturally must have been the spy that she helped," he finished for her, "So James is a spy?"

"No," she said quickly and perhaps a bit too forcefully, blushing, "That story was just fresh in my mind when I had to come up with a name. Nothing is ever specifically said, it's just implied. I was taken with the story at the time; that a prostitute would be mentioned in the genealogy of Christ. It all seemed rather romantic."

He chuckled softly, "My Ruth. I knew you had to have a reason."

His Ruth? Was that Harry or James speaking?

She didn't have time to ponder that question for long because the receptionist called for the family of Ms. Bickley at that moment.

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	13. The Step

_**I greatly appreciate all the reviews. Thank you and I hope this continues to please.**_

_**Disclaimer: See previous.**_

He was relieved that the waiting was finally over. They had been led to a small consultation room to meet with the surgeon. The man had looked weary and primarily just gave them a repeat of what the nurse had told them earlier with the added good news that Elizabeth had come through surgery well. The older man (Harry had been privately glad to see the gray hair. He never quite trusted these doctors that looked like they'd just got out of uni.) had answered Ruth's few questions and assured her that they would know more in the next few days as her mother began her recovery. Now they were waiting for Ruth's mother to be brought to her room in the intensive care unit, and then Harry would try to get his analyst to go home and rest more. Holding her while she had slept had been a delight he never thought he'd experience. He could still almost feel the pressure of her head against his chest.

His analyst was starting to look slightly more at ease. She was always out of sorts when she didn't have enough information, and she had been out of sorts since she'd gotten that call. He didn't like it. When she was out of sorts, he was worried. That was why he had spent the last few hours trying to distract her and why he was now standing as close as possible to her without actually touching. At least that is what he told himself. Repeatedly. Even when he felt her shoulder touch his chest when she leaned back slightly. Even when he caught a whiff of her shampoo. And especially when he felt the impulse to lean forward to place a gentle kiss on her cheek. He was a breath away from giving in to the impulse. He reasoned that it's what James would do. To his frustration, she sighed and leaned forward just enough to take her tempting cheek out of the reach of his lips. He would have put his arm around her to draw her back against him but her mother was wheeled into the room at that moment.

Once the nurses had their patient settled, with various bits of equipment plugged into the wall and more tubes attached to Ruth's mother than made him comfortable, they were left alone with a warning that they could only stay for a few minutes since Elizabeth would need her rest. He took up a station by the door while Ruth leaned over her mother's hand. He was just far enough away to afford them some privacy, but close enough to reach his analyst in an instant if she needed him. He only glanced down at Elizabeth briefly. She looked disconcertingly like her daughter. It was too easy to imagine that it was his analyst lying there instead of her mother, and that image caused a fist to tighten around his heart. He kept his attention fixed on Ruth instead. He was here to support her after all. They only spoke for a quarter of an hour before Elizabeth's eyes were closing in exhaustion. Ruth waited, watching her to see that she had truly drifted into a deep sleep before extracting her hand gently and walking quietly to his side.

"We should go home," she said, taking his arm and surprising him for more than one reason.

He held the door for her and reluctantly extracted her arm from his to allow her through first. Once on the other side, he took her hand firmly and pulled her arm back through his elbow, reasoning that he was just reestablishing their connection.

He glanced down at her, "You surprise me. I thought you'd insist on staying."

She shook her head, "I think I'll need to get my rest while I can. You heard Nurse Kimball and the surgeon. Mother will have to stay with me for at least a few weeks. Or I'll have to stay with her. I suppose it depends on where the best physiotherapy offices are."

A chuckle escaped. He couldn't help it. Here he'd thought she'd been out of sorts and all the while she'd been planning the next few weeks of her life. He was surprised that she hadn't already researched which physiotherapy offices were best and made appointments. No doubt that would be done before she went to sleep tonight. When he told her as much, she glanced up at him, fighting back a smile of her own.

His next task was to ensure that she had a substantial meal before seeing her home safely. Once they'd stepped out of the hospital, he released her arm so that he could hail a cab. Unfortunately, once the connection was broken, it seemed nearly impossible to take her arm again. It had been so easy in the hospital when he was pouring all his strength into supporting her. Now, though, they were outside the hospital, and he was unsure again whether she'd want his support or him. Once they were settled in a cab and he'd finished a second much shorter call to Nancy, he cleared his throat and turned to her in the most nonchalant manner he could manage, "Fancy having a quick dinner with me? I'm famished. I've only had breakfast and that little bit of tea at yours."

He could see the quick flare of indecision in her eyes so he added softly, "Please."

She relented much quicker than he had thought she would. Perhaps she was more tired than he realized. Or perhaps she still wanted his support. Did that mean she would want him as well? He fervently hoped so. He gave the driver the direction of a small restaurant that was near her home, and soon they were settled in a plain but clean dining room with steaming bowls of stew and a loaf of crusty bread in front of them.

She tucked in with gusto, and he nodded in satisfaction, "Nothing like a good bowl of stew after a hard day. Very comforting."

She smiled while she chewed and he found out why when she finished. "Better than a tumbler of whiskey?"

He gave her a mock scowl, "Much better. More filling too."

When she had finished half her stew, and he had finished three-quarters of his, she took a deep breath which he knew was the precursor to serious conversation, "I'm going to need time off. Family hardship."

"We'll deal with that on Monday," he said, slightly irritated at her reverting to business. "I'm not your boss right now."

She shook her head in frustration, "I'm not talking to you as a boss. I'm talking to you as a friend. I need someone to help me think and make plans."

He blinked at her in surprise and looked down as though he'd found something incredibly interesting in his stew. She wanted his support. She wanted to talk to him as a friend, like she would to James, if he was James, which he was not. He was Harry, but he very much wanted to help her to plan. He very much wanted to help her, if she would allow him. Actually, he had every intention of making himself indispensable over the next few weeks. He needed her to know that.

"Ruth, I can understand your wanting to plan, but maybe it should wait for tomorrow. You've had a long day," he began. He looked up to see her ready to interrupt him and held up his hand to stall her. "Visiting hours don't begin until 10. Why don't I come over tomorrow early, and we can plan to your heart's content before we go to the hospital? But for tonight, rest, drink some more wine, sleep. How does that sound? I'll bring muffins." He added hopefully.

The corners of her mouth lifted, but her eyes didn't smile, "You're planning on going back with me?" Her eyes dropped to the table, and she started to trace patterns on it.

"Yes, of course," he said, and then realized he'd possibly overstepped, "If you want me?" His anxiety made him add, "I mean, James would certainly be expected wouldn't he?"

Her eyes darted up to his and this time her lips twitched in a frown before she forced a smile, "Yes, I suppose he would be." Her finger continued to draw patterns on the table.

Time for distraction again. "What's that you're doing?" He gestured toward the patterns.

She stopped abruptly and would have pulled her hand into her lap but he caught it and held it on top of the table.

"It's nothing. Just fidgeting," she said quickly.

He captured her eyes with his and said, "Just fidgeting? I don't think so." Her eyes darted away, and he released her hand. He had no intention of torturing her after all. If it made her that nervous, he'd leave it be. Maybe. Maybe not. "You don't have to tell me. It's just that you did it earlier on my…" Why on earth were the tips of his ears heating? Your thigh Harry. Her hand was on your thigh. He swallowed, "Um, my leg. It felt like there was a purpose. A pattern."

She had left her hand on the table and was watching him with a curious expression. Her eyes darted toward his ears. Damn. He wished that she didn't know him so well. On the other hand wasn't that what he wanted? For her to know him well and to well and truly know her.

"Alphabets," she said and smiled, a real one that lit up her eyes. "I do alphabets, Greek, Hebrew, Arabic. It calms me."

He smiled back at her and nodded. See that wasn't so hard was it? Once again, he offered his own tiny revelation as reward, "Morse."

"Hmm?"

"I tap out Morse code to calm myself. Sometimes with my finger. Sometimes with my foot."

She ducked her head, but he didn't miss her amusement. He leaned forward, "What is it? Ruth? Come now, if you're going to laugh at me I should at least know why."

She met his eyes again and her own were sparkling, "I'm not laughing at you. It's just that…" She paused to suppress a laugh.

"You're doing a wonderful job of not laughing at me, Ms. Evershed," he said dryly, fully enjoying watching her mirth and happy to have distracted her so thoroughly.

"I saw you once. You were talking to the DG. I thought you were trying to send some secret message."

"But in reality it was just nonsense," he finished her thought.

She did laugh then, "No, I think it was something along the lines of 'Sod off you pompous…'"

He cut her off with a laugh of his own, "That's quite enough. I can see I'll have to be more careful from now on."

Their eyes met and held for a moment. The amusement drained away from both of them, and he felt the tension that had become so familiar between them over the last months, as though they were just on the edge of something wonderful; something wonderful and incredibly dangerous. Just one more step. That's all it would take.

He leaned back, broke eye contact, and sighed, "I suppose I should get you home. Once I've settled the bill, we can call another cab."

He looked up to see that she had left her eyes on him, and her head was tilted to the side. The way she looked when she was working out a problem. Very softly, so softly that he almost thought he imagined it, she said, "Let's walk."

"Hmm?"

More confidently, she said, "It's only a few blocks. Let's walk. I think I would like to walk." After a moment she added softly, "With you."

And that was the step.

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	14. The Walk

_**Again, thank you for all the reviews. Glad that some are enjoying. Sorry about my too perfect Harry. I blame it entirely on Peter Firth and his lips. And his voice. And his eyes. And the blue shirt. Definitely the blue shirt.**_

_**Disclaimer: Still do not own them or earn anything from them.**_

Odd. Harry had seemed hesitant in the restaurant, but he'd taken her hand the moment they stepped onto the sidewalk. Actually, he had frowned down at their entwined fingers and stuffed their joined hands in the pocket of his coat.

"You should wear gloves," he said softly, with a hint of gruffness.

She really didn't know what possessed her. She supposed she could blame it on the stress of the day and the two glasses of wine with her dinner. It certainly couldn't have been because of the warm, tingling sensation that spread from their joined fingers all the way to the center of her chest. Whatever it was, she leaned toward him and murmured, "I don't know that I should if this is my reward."

His step faltered just a little. Not much. No one but her would ever have noticed it. "Reward?"

"I rather like holding your hand, and your pocket is warm," she said more confidently.

She kept her eyes fixed on the sidewalk in front of them, but she could feel him twist his head to glance down at her. He kept walking, steps not faltering again. She would have thought he was upset if his hand hadn't squeezed hers tightly.

As they approached her door, she pulled all her courage together for a single word, "Coffee?"

He stopped on the step below her, and she turned to face him so that they were now disconcertingly eye to eye.

"I don't know if my coming in would be a good idea," he said softly but his eyes were searching hers, and she thought he was almost beseeching her to disagree.

"Harry, it's coffee," she sighed, "I'm hardly going to jump over the table at you."

He smiled, and his gaze grew just a shade more intense.

"Unless you'd want me to?" her voice was uncertain. "Or if you wanted to?

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. This kiss was as different from the second one as that one had been from the first. There was passion infused throughout this kiss and reassurance and loving tenderness. She pulled her head back to look at his eyes. His lips followed her, and he kissed her once more, softly. He lifted his eyebrows at her questioningly, "Inside?"

She nodded, "Inside."

Once she'd managed to unlock the door, which was no easy task with Harry surrounding her, they stumbled over the threshold. Ruth turned and pressed Harry back against the door, reaching around him to turn the lock. His lips were on hers again and now he cupped her face in his hands, stroking her cheeks with his gloved thumbs.

"Ruth," he breathed out between kisses, "this is," he leaned forward to kiss her again, "not a good idea."

She pulled back, breathing heavy, and when his lips chased her, she pulled back even more. "It's a horrible idea," she agreed, then leaned forward to capture his bottom lip between hers. "But that doesn't mean that I don't want it." She trailed kisses along the underside of his jaw.

He growled softly before turning his head to explore her lips and mouth thoroughly with his own again. After enjoying his kisses for far longer than she should have, she leaned back and pressed her fingers to his lips to block them. She couldn't think. Not when he was there and doing that and doing that so incredibly well. He smiled against the tips of her fingers and straightened, thankfully putting a little more distance between his tempting lips and hers. "I'm glad that you want it. I mean, I wasn't sure."

"Well, you are an excellent kisser which bodes well for, um," she had started boldly but her confidence waned.

He was positively grinning now, and his eyes which had been watching hers flicked toward the stairs. "For other things?" he suggested in his low purr.

And that voice. It was a wonder she didn't drag him by the scruff of his neck to her bed this instant. She smiled but turned serious again, "Harry when you kissed me the first time. At the hospital."

"You mean the second time," he corrected, still grinning, "because the first time you definitely kissed me."

"Nevertheless," she continued, determined to have her answer, "I thought it was just part of the legend."

It was a statement, but there was certainly a great deal of question in it.

"I don't play a role with you, Ruth," he said seriously, "I may pretend to be James to help you, but when I kissed you then and when I kiss you now it's only Harry."

She studied his eyes for a moment to ensure that he was in fact being truthful. Then she relaxed, hands on his upper arms. "I suppose now is when I would ask you to stay."

"And I would answer that I don't want to take advantage," he replied, hands still on her waist and thumbs stroking the underside of her ribs.

She nearly sighed at the sensations his hands were causing, and a smile tugged at her lips, "Then I would say that I only want you to stay for the company."

His hands curved around her back and the twinkle returned to his eyes, "In that case, I would agree but only if you let me sleep in your spare room."

"I would argue that my bed is big enough for two, and we're both adults," the smile that had been threatening broke through, and she did sigh when his fingers brushed over a particularly sensitive spot along her spine.

He laughed and sank back against the door, sliding down so that his eyes were on her level, "We are both definitely adults, and that's the reason that if we're together in the same bed I think I could guarantee no sleep."

She leaned closer to him, intrigued, "Guarantee? Really?"

He shook his head quickly and grew serious, straightening off the door and dropping his hands to his sides, "Ruth, I don't want that."

She was surprised at the depth of her disappointment and backed away, "Oh, I see. Well, I'll just get the coffee. If you still want that?"

"No!" he cut her off sharply, "That's not what I mean. I mean I do want to sleep with you, or well actually not sleep with you. Just not yet. I mean…"

"Harry," she said, swallowing quickly, "it's fine. You don't want to sleep with me. I understand. As we both said, it's a horrible idea."

She started down the hall toward the kitchen, and he grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him. He spoke fiercely, both hands gripping her upper arms, "Ruth. I do want to sleep with you but only after we are totally and utterly exhausted from hours of me worshipping every inch of your body."

Blood rushed to her face as images of her spy hovering over her body, kissing her breasts, between her thighs, pressing into her, filled her mind. She felt as though she could barely breathe. She ran a trembling hand over her forehead.

"Harry, you are the single most confusing, infuriating, exasperating man that I've ever met," she burst out in frustration.

He leaned his back against the wall and rubbed his hand over his forehead, "What I am trying to say is that I don't want _only_ that from you. I want to get to know you. Away from work. Away from everything if possible. I want to eat meals with you, take you to the theatre, listen to concerts, walk in the park. I want to help you now, planning and taking care of your mother. And," his lip quirked up in a half smile, "I want to leave a toothbrush here, one that's not been used to clean grout."

She sank back against the opposite wall and watched him for a few moments, arms crossed over her chest to guard herself from him. "I see. That's, well," her eyes scrunched up as she tried to understand everything he'd said, "I didn't expect that."

"What did you expect?" he asked. There was curiosity in the question but not the challenge there might have been; the challenge that probably would have been there before this insane day.

She took a deep breath. What had she expected? Should she tell him? She looked into his eyes for a moment. Whatever he was-boss, friend, spy, lover (imaginary or otherwise)-he deserved to know the truth. "I thought you were attracted to me, but just for, well, an easy shag to be crude about it."

His eyes and manner went completely quiet. "That is crude."

The hurt that she saw made her apologize and reach toward him, "It is, and I'm sorry for thinking that of you."

"Don't feel too sorry," he grimaced, pushing himself off the wall and starting toward the kitchen, "It would have been true ten years ago. Could we have that coffee now?"

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	15. The Talk

_**Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Earn nothing from them. Wish I did.**_

Coffee, coffee, coffee. He needed coffee or tea or something to occupy his mind and his hands and his lips instead of her. If he didn't have something else soon, he would say or do something that he would regret. Or worse that she would regret. He was already in the kitchen looking around. He didn't feel quite comfortable enough to go scrounging through her cupboards, even though he was nearly desperate enough to do so. A quick glance told him that the bottle of whiskey was still on the counter. Not an option. He needed all his wits about him for this conversation. Apparently Ruth agreed with him because she crossed to the counter and put the bottle back in the cupboard without even a backward glance.

"I'm too wound up for coffee," she said with a sigh, "Would you rather have a cup of tea?"

"Took the thoughts right out of my head," he said and picked up the kettle to fill it.

There were a few moments for both of them to gather their thoughts as the water boiled and then the tea brewed. Lovely thing-making tea. It takes time. Time to cool off. To calm down. To prevent oneself from making an utter idiot of oneself.

Once they were seated with their respective cups in front of them, they both began.

"Harry," "Ruth"

"You go first," she said.

"No, I insist," he said, relieved by his temporary reprieve, "Ladies first."

Her eyes told him that she knew he was stalling, but she spoke, "I was only going to ask what you meant."

"Ahh, well, I guess I do get to go first then don't I?" he smiled tightly. "I was going to explain that…" His voice cracked. He closed his eyes and reminded himself once again that he'd faced down terrorists, gone through torture, been hurt in terrible ways. Surely he could manage a personal conversation with his analyst. His analyst who apparently had at least some tender feelings toward him if her response to his kisses was any indication. If he was going to have this conversation then he just needed to plow ahead. Tell her everything. Let her decide what she wanted. He was prepared to use all his powers of persuasion to ensure that she wanted exactly what he did, however.

"I've been attracted to you for some time. Not quite from the first, but nearly so. What I told your mother was the truth. Minus the Israeli citrus reports, of course," he began. That was the easy part. Now his voice tightened over the next words, "If this were ten years ago, I would have just done my best to seduce you immediately and gotten you out of my system, so to speak." She frowned. He was making a colossal mess of this. He wondered briefly where the knives were and if he should keep her away from them.

"Although, I have to admit that I don't think I could ever get you out of my system. Not without permanent damage to myself, that is." Her face softened, and when she looked at him his breath caught. No need to keep her away from knives then.

He looked down at the table, not wanting to see her expression for his next revelation. "I, um. You know how it is. The decisions we make. The things we do. For years, I wanted to forget my decisions, and the things I did. Sex was my drug. I wanted to be lost for a few hours. I would find a woman who wanted the same, and we'd forget things together. No strings attached. Just the way I wanted it. Usually, I didn't even know their last name and they didn't even know my real one. I thought it was perfect."

She shifted in her chair. His eyes darted up to gauge her reaction again. She was uncomfortable but not angry. He continued quickly, "Then I realized that I felt just as empty after one of those encounters as I did before. Sometimes more so."

He took a sip of his tea. This was not easy. He hoped she realized how not easy it was. He was a spy, trained to know his weaknesses and then build impenetrable fortresses around them. In a single conversation, he was showing the one person who could hurt him the most exactly how she could. Torture, gun shots, and knife wounds had nothing on the degree of pain this woman could inflict on him if she chose.

"I decided that it wasn't worth it. The meaningless sex, I mean," he said, voice dropping, "Sex without a relationship wasn't worth the pain after. I am rotten at relationships. I destroyed my marriage with work and lies and by just generally being myself. Therefore, I resigned myself to dying as a lonely old spook who drinks too much whiskey, talks to his dog, and eats far too much takeaway."

Her eyes were fixed on the table. He wished she would look up so that he could read them. When she didn't, he spoke to the top of her head, "Then you were seconded to Section D, and I began to know you. I wanted strings. Lots of them. All of them tying me to you."

She did look up then, and he fought every instinct he had so that he could keep his face open for her to read the truth there. She did. Relief flooded through him at what he saw in her eyes.

"Harry, this is not the best timing…," she began.

"You mean 10pm on a Saturday night when you've just spent the past several hours in hospital waiting for news of your injured mother?" he asked. "I did mention that I was rotten at relationships."

She smiled, a real one that softened her eyes even further. "You're making an excellent case against yourself."

His own smile was relieved. "I think you can see why I would never make a good politician."

"You'd make a horrible politician because you're a man of integrity Harry," she said still smiling. Then the smile faded and she asked seriously, "But why now? Why not last week or next week or next month?"

"Or next year?" he asked. "Because when we you were showing me your 'James in the box' I was ridiculously relieved that there was no real James. Then I realized that there could be a James at any time. I don't want that." He leaned toward her now and took her wrist, thumb resting over her pulse, "I want that to be my toothbrush in your lavatory and my ties hanging over your mirror and my book beside our bed."

She was looking down at his hand on her wrist, but her breathing had quickened and her pulse was speeding up under his thumb. Her eyes drifted up to meet his again, and he could see her acceptance, "I thought you said you would be too busy to need a book."

"I would only need it until you came to bed," he leaned forward to speak quietly into her ear, "after you put the cats out for the night. Then we could be as busy as you'd like to be."

"I don't put the cats out at night," she answered.

His pulse was nearly matching the steadily increasing rhythm of hers under his thumb. "Then I would be too busy to read as soon as we came home."

Almost before he had the last word out, she surprised him once again by turning her head and capturing his lips with hers. She tasted like sweet tea and strings and Ruth. All Ruth. Nothing but Ruth.

_**Reviews are welcome and appreciated**_.


	16. The Date

_**Thank you for all the reviews. Hope this continues to please and that those in the U.S. have a happy Thanksgiving. Those that don't I hope you have a happy Thursday.**_

_**Disclaimer: No matter how thankful I would be if I did, I do not own them.**_

She couldn't help herself. Harry speaking so urgently for her ears only, all his attention focused on her reaction. And his lips so close. The lips that she was now kissing for the fourth or was it the fifth time this day. Lips that tasted wonderfully of sweet tea and Harry.

She pulled back slowly and saw the same expression that she'd seen at the hospital. Her heart soared. This wasn't just him in the legend. He had no need to pretend. Not alone in her kitchen with no one but cats watching.

He swallowed and looked so cautiously hopeful that she thought her heart would burst. "So you wouldn't mind? Strings I mean? And eventually toothbrushes and ties?" he asked.

"I don't think I'd mind the strings or the toothbrushes or the ties as long as you came with them and kept me busy," she said.

He gave a short surprised and relieved laugh and then pressed his lips to hers again. When he once again, reluctantly she thought, released her lips, he pressed his forehead against hers. "I should leave. You need your rest. Tomorrow will be a long day."

"Harry, you don't have to go," she said.

He rose and ran his hand over his hair, "No, I think I do have to leave. I don't want this to move too quickly."

"We've known each other for two years," she said flatly, "I don't think we could be accused of rushing headlong into a relationship."

He laughed again, "No, you and I could never be accused of rushing things, but, um, I want to savor this."

"Savor?," she asked, standing to face him.

"Yes, not just gobble it all up in one go," he was watching her closely, head bent so that he could see her eyes. "I want to date you, get to know you slowly."

"Oh Harry, your metaphors are awful," she said but rescued him before his face fell too far, "but your sentiments are perfect. We'll date. But perhaps not too slowly?" She was instantly ashamed of the hopeful note in her voice, but once she saw his expression all regret vanished.

He was smiling again and leaning toward her, head tilted slightly to the side, "Not too slowly. Five dates."

"Five dates?" Her spy truly was the most exasperating, confusing, frustrating, exhausting, precious man she'd ever met.

He nodded briskly, "Five dates until," he glanced toward the stairs, "we could be busy."

"Why five?" she asked, still confused but a little amused now as well.

"Five dates is perfect," he said confidently, "After just one, you'd think that was all I wanted from you. After two, you'd think that the only reason I went out with you the second time was for that. Four, well I've never liked even numbers, and if we waited until after seven…,"

"Then I might think you were past it," she finished for him. "Exactly how long have you been thinking about this?"

"Too long," he sighed.

He needed to leave. If he didn't, she could easily stay up all night talking to him or drag him to her bedroom against his will, although she doubted he'd fight her much. Before he left though, she needed to clarify something. "Today. Was any part of this a date?"

He looked up at the ceiling as though he were trying to think, "Well, it wasn't planned, but I did come over to see what you were like away from work, and we didn't talk much about work related things. We ate. We kissed…, quite well I believe?" he looked to her for confirmation so she nodded. Very well indeed. "It certainly wasn't ideal, and I wouldn't consider your mother's accident to be part of it, but yes, I believe that at least part of this day could be construed as a date."

"Good," she said, "And tomorrow when you bring muffins so that you can help me plan?"

"Definitely a date," he nodded.

"Only three more to go then," she said and was pleased to see him smile.

"Three more," he agreed firmly.

There was nothing left for them to discuss and much danger if he lingered any longer so he called for a cab, and then helped her clear the few dishes away while they waited.

She walked him to the door and watched him pull his coat onto his shoulders. Without any urgency this time, she put her hands on his chest to brace herself and rose up while he leaned down so they could kiss one last time before he left; a very gentle kiss goodnight with wishes for sweet dreams and a promise for tomorrow in it

"Sleep well," he whispered, reaching up to caress her cheek.

"Call me when you get home so I'll know you're safe."

He made no move to let her go. She didn't move away from him.

The cab horn sounded from outside.

"I need to go."

"You do," she agreed. He still kept his hold on her.

After another moment, she made a decision, "Let the cab go. Come back inside."

He shook his head, "Temptress."

"Tease."

He kissed her one last time and then slipped out the door.

She leaned against the door and closed her eyes, sighing. There would be no sleep tonight, no matter how tired she was.

Just when she was ready to push herself away from the door and make her way to bed, she felt the doorknob turn. She looked around in surprise, "Harry?"

"Next time, you should lock the door as soon as I leave," he admonished, pinning her against the door as he reached around her to turn the lock. "It's not safe. Anyone might come in."

"I will," she said, eyebrows lifted and nearly breathless.

He seemed suddenly nervous again, more nervous than she'd ever seen him. Releasing her suddenly, he stepped back. "As I was leaving, it occurred to me that we had lunch about a month ago."

She nodded, fascinated by the heat she saw in his eyes and the way he was rocking forward on his toes, ready to pounce. "And we discussed that new book you were reading. So that would technically be our first date, making today our second." He lifted his eyebrows at her hopefully.

She smiled, "And there was also that time a few weeks ago that we were working late and had noodles at my desk. I think you asked me about my cats?" He nodded, smiling now that he saw she had caught on, "So that would actually make today our third."

"And that time that we were on the roof?" he said, and she wondered which of the dozens of times he was referring to, "We had coffee and talked about your choir."

"So today would actually be our fourth," she said, leaning forward.

He shifted from one foot to the other and rubbed the top of his ear before he asked, "And then didn't we…?"

"Yes," she answered, certain there had been at least one other time that they had done something somewhere that could be classified as a date.

"Five," he sighed and reached for her shoulders to pull her close, but she was already stepping into his arms.

_**Reviews are always welcome.**_


	17. The Toothbrush

_**I think that this can stay in the 'T' section. Not that I mind M-ness and certainly not H/R M-ness, but I really hate to put a whole fic there for just one chapter. If anyone is offended and thinks I should change the rating, let me know. **_

_**Disclaimer: Not mine, but I still maintain they would have much more fun with me than with their current owners.**_

Harry was glad that he retained enough presence of mind to draw Ruth away from the door. He never liked staying in front of windows or doors. Too long a spy. He did, however, press her against the wall in the hallway and lean over her, one forearm propping himself up while his other hand caressed her waist and hip, drawing her against him.

He couldn't stop kissing her. He wanted to taste every inch of her skin and reasoned that he might as well begin with her face and neck. Spurred on by low moans that vibrated through her throat to his lips, he spent an inordinate amount of time just below and behind her right ear. Finally, he drew on all his reserves of self-control to stop but kept his cheek beside hers. Eyes closed so that he wouldn't be tempted by her flushed skin, he said, almost ashamed of his own breathlessness, "I couldn't leave. I didn't want you to be alone tonight."

She turned her cheek slightly and kissed the rim of his ear lightly, "That's good. I want you here with me."

A shudder ran through him when her lips touched him. If she only knew how tenuous his hold on his control was… He took a deep breath and made the most difficult gesture of his life. "I want you to know that I don't require any payment to stay here. That is, you don't have to… " He leaned back and opened his eyes, watching her and taking in her flushed cheeks, parted lips, hooded eyes.

"I know what you mean, Harry," she said, voice low and husky. Another shudder ran through him as her voice strummed some chord deep inside him, the perfect note. "Have I done anything to this point that would make you think I would consider making love to you a payment, a chore?"

His mind was still slower than it should be so he shook his head in wonder. "No, but I don't want you to think …"

Her eyes took on a fierce look and she spoke urgently, "I think we've both spent enough time thinking. Why don't we begin doing?"

Self-control shattered. He crushed his lips back to hers and moaned into her perfect mouth. Her hands were struggling at his chest, and it took him a moment to realize that she was trying, and failing, to unbutton his overcoat. Pulling his body away from her but keeping his lips pressed to hers, he reluctantly let go of her hip and covered her hands so that he could help. Soon, between them, they had the front of his coat open and hanging around them.

"Harry, do you realize that you still have your gloves on?" she whispered in between grazing kisses. In mute answer and continuing to concentrate on tasting her exposed skin, he raised one hand so that she could remove the glove. She slid two fingers under the edge along his palm, and he groaned at the sheer eroticism of that simple act.

After removing first one and then the other glove in this way, she pressed her palms against his chest and pushed him back slightly. He rocked back on his heels and watched her in disappointment. If she stopped now, he was going to need an ice bath to calm down. Instead of stopping she reached for his shoulders and smoothed his coat over them and down his arms. He took the hint and removed it the rest of the way, then stepped back just enough so that he could hang it on the free hook in the hall. His hook now. Not James's.

"Upstairs?" she asked, and reached up to un-knot his tie, using it to draw him back to her.

"Upstairs," he answered with a nod. She slid his tie from his neck and draped it over the banister, and he shrugged out of his suit jacket to let it join the tie. With the removal of his lips from her body, he was able to focus again and a thought struck him. He quirked an eyebrow at her in amusement and said, "There is one problem though."

A worried frown came to her face, and he couldn't resist wiping it away with a kiss before speaking into her ear again, "I don't have a toothbrush, and I'll not use the one that's been used on the grout."

He had his intended response when she laughed and pressed her lips against his neck. Ruth happy and touching him with mouth and hands was heaven. Before he could tell her that though, she was pulling out of his arms and dashing up the stairs, calling back to him over her shoulder, "Just a minute… I think…"

What? Where was she going? Damn. Damn. Damn. Joke after sex, Harry. Not before. He started up the steps as fast as his traitorous knee would allow him. He was about two thirds of the way to the first floor when she came back toward him with a triumphant grin and holding a package in front of her. A toothbrush.

He took it from her and looked at it in consternation, "It's, um, very pink."

"It's new," she answered, looking at him flatly, and then added in a too casual voice, "and yours if you want it."

He smiled, "I love pink. Favorite colour."

She nodded her approval and pressed her lips to his again in reward. The time for hesitating and questioning was past as far as he was concerned. She wanted him here, and she wanted him. He pressed against her until they were half-sitting and half-lying on the stairs. All his attention went into revealing as much of her skin as possible in as short a period of time as possible. He had her blouse unfastened and was working on her bra while her hands were on the waistband of his trousers.

"Harry," the breathless quality of her voice filled him with pride, and he concentrated on stealing more of her breath by covering one breast with kisses while he caressed the other in his hand. "Umm, yes, that feels… Oh. This isn't the most comfortable place." He lifted his head to look at her, but she pulled him back to her chest. "Don't stop."

He obliged her command, and his voice was muffled by the side of her breast when he answered, "No, but it is convenient for this." He slid down a step and trailed kisses in the valley between her breast down the line of her abdomen to her navel where he dipped his tongue in briefly. She moaned as he worked his way to the waistband of her skirt. Realizing that his trousers were slipping over his hips, he paused to kick his shoes off and watch as they bounced down the steps. When he looked back up, she was smiling down at him and had half-risen.

She started up the stairs again, and looked back over her shoulder. "Come on then. I thought you said I'd be brilliant in the bedroom."

He stood quickly and started to follow but was momentarily hindered by his trousers. He decided the best course was just to leave them here. After all, he wouldn't need them where he was going. There was a moment of panic while he was removing them when he almost lost his balance. The only thought that ran through his mind was the sheer mortification of being found with a broken neck sans trousers at the bottom of his analyst's stairs. He thankfully regained his balance and followed his analyst quickly to her bed. Their bed soon if he had any say in it.

She stood at the door of her bedroom watching him. Shy? He studied her face. No. Just waiting. She wanted him with her. His heart soared again. He walked toward her with all the dignity that a past middle age, balding, slightly chubby man with no trousers, a bum knee and a half unbuttoned shirt could manage. She watched him with all the desire a barmy, brilliantly beautiful analyst in only her skirt could have.

When he reached her, he took her face in his hands and caressed her cheeks with his thumbs. Gentle now. Urgency abated slightly as they were finally near their destination. He leaned down to kiss her while she rose on her toes to meet him. As they brushed each others' mouths lightly and repeatedly, he had to clamp down firmly on the words that almost slipped out. Not time for that yet. That needed to wait. To distract himself, he pressed his lips tighter against hers and brushed the crease with his tongue. She welcomed him, and he explored her mouth, letting his tongue run lightly over her teeth before brushing along hers. Each stroke of her tongue seemed to stoke his urgency more until they were stumbling through the door in their haste to find her bed.

They divested themselves of the rest of their clothes quickly. He took a moment to admire her body; the weight of her breasts, the flare of her hips, the tapering legs. His desire had him touching her soon though, and they nearly tumbled onto the bed. He was between her thighs with her moist warmth pressed against his thigh. in his dreams he would take his time, draw this out, make her beg for him, but reality was much more insistent than his dreams. So was his analyst. She wrapped one leg around his hip and drew him closer. With that movement on her part, he was at her entrance and then with a shift of her hips he was just inside her warmth.

She whispered one word against his cheek. "Please." And the last trace of self-control that he'd been clinging to bolted out the door. He pressed into her and then sought their rhythm. They found their rhythm together, rocking against each other. Slow then faster. Deep then shallow. Thrusting then sliding. Her sighs and moans struck that deep chord inside him again, and he shuddered against her. He felt her muscles begin to tighten. Her hands gripped his shoulders harder. Her legs wrapped around his hips to hold him closer.

When she cried out and arched against him, his own release followed almost immediately.

His final thought when he fell to her side in exhaustion was that he was lost; utterly, completely, totally, and irrevocably lost, and he didn't mind in the least.

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	18. The Morning

_**Ruth's side of the story.**_

_**Disclaimer: For the 18**__**th**__** time, I do not own these two or earn anything from them. **_

Ruth was warm. Warmer than she could remember being in a long time. As she slowly woke, she snuggled deeper into the covers and that warmth. That was when she felt something hard and growing progressively harder pressing against her backside. Her eyes opened and she realized the blanket that was draped around her was actually her spy who was cupping her breast, kissing her neck, and poking her bottom insistently with the hardest part of his anatomy. She moaned when his lips grazed a particularly sensitive spot and wondered if he knew the effect he had on her. A low chuckle muffled by her shoulder let her know that he had definitely noticed. Bloody spook. Too observant by half.

She turned over in his arms and saw a flash of a frown. Then his eyes were drawn to her breasts, and she was rewarded with a smile that was a curious mixture of satisfaction and hunger. The hand that had been on her breast trailed down her back to cup her hip and draw her flush against him. His head bent to nuzzle her neck again and she felt his voice vibrate through her skin to the middle of her chest, "Good morning."

"Mmm. A very good morning," she sighed and trailed kisses down from the top of his head to his ear which she traced lightly with her tongue. She felt a shudder run through him. Good. She hadn't totally lost her reason last night. Who would have thought his ears would be one of her spy's most sensitive parts?

His hand ghosted over her hip toward the center of her back, and he traced the dip at the bottom of her spine with just the tips of his fingers. She curved into him more and sighed in pleasure. He smiled against her neck. Her spy. Always competitive. He must have mapped her body last night with the same attention she had paid to his. The second time of course. The first time her sole focus had been to get him into her bed and her as quickly as possible.

She pulled back slightly, wanting to see his eyes. They were still filled with the same gentle, loving tenderness that had been there last night, with heat still but without quite the same urgency. She shifted her thigh to press between his legs and rubbed gently. The urgency returned, and he leaned forward to kiss her nearly breathless.

She pulled back again and said, "I thought you didn't want to gobble it all in one go."

"You've apparently lost your ability to count, Ms. Evershed," he said lightly, "This would be the third go. At least one of us has retained some reason."

She pushed against him so that he was on his back and draped herself over him, "Third go? Not by my count."

He frowned at her and then shifted so that she was astride him, and he was caressing her thighs with his hands, "I wasn't aware that there was more than one way to count."

"For you or for me?" she leaned down to kiss the crease where his breastbone met his ribs and was pleased to feel him shudder again. Good. Another spot.

"Ahhh," he sighed in pleasure and then stroked the top of her hip bone with his thumb. She shivered and closed her eyes. How had he found that spot? She couldn't remember that from last night. When she opened her eyes again, she saw his smug smile. Bloody competitive spook.

"What's your count?" he asked.

"That depends on now," she said and ground her hips against his.

He smiled and his thumbs brushed toward her center with purpose, "Challenge accepted."

She leaned down again thinking that sometimes competition could be a very good thing.

The first time had been urgent, necessary, pressing, and a need that had to be satisfied. The second had been about a different type of need; the need to explore and taste and touch and prove themselves to each other. This time they were satisfied both with themselves and each other. She knew now that she was worthy of him, and he had proved his worth to her.

This time was playful; fingers teasing, tongues caressing, gasps of pleasure and moans of need. It didn't take long for her kisses to shift from playful to urgent. He flipped so that they were on their sides facing each other. It was the most intense love making she'd ever experienced. His eyes held hers, and she felt the words that she'd held back last night start to well up, ready to spill out. To distract herself, she buried her head in the curve of his neck. Too soon. It was too soon to say something like that.

His hand on her back trailed down again to the curve of her spine and that was just what she needed to push her over the edge. She came with shudders of pleasure and the words spilled out of her but thankfully in Arabic, Latin, Greek, French, German. Anything but English. Not English. She was at least able to hold that back.

She felt the slightest change in his rhythm, but then he was clutching her tighter, pulling her into him. He went from long, smooth strokes to quick, deep thrusts before clenching her shoulders and shuddering against her. As his breathing calmed, she heard him whisper into her ear. "Je t'aime, bien-aime. Je t'adore. Ich liebe dich, liebste."

She pulled back to look in his eyes. He might say anything in the heat of passion, but his eyes wouldn't lie. She read the same message there, and if there was any doubt, he said, "I love you, my beloved Ruth."

Her lip quirked up into a smile, "And I love you my beloved spy."

She was lost, utterly, completely, totally, irrevocably lost, and she didn't mind in the slightest.

**THE END (**_**for now**_**)**

_**I hate to leave stories unfinished or dragging out for too long. I do plan to visit this AU again soon, but I believe this part ends well here. Thanks to all who have read and reviewed. **_


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